


Routine

by someonestolemyshoes



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Cam Boy AU, First Time Sex, KageHina - Freeform, M/M, Masturbation, Sex Toys, Skype Sex, anyway here you're all animals for wanting this and i hope u enjoy it, big nerds, essentially crack in places I'm sorry, gratuitous descriptions of sketching, hina is a cam boy, i changed the rating because it got a little too detailed i think, kags is a university student, that's...all u need to know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-16 16:34:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9280169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someonestolemyshoes/pseuds/someonestolemyshoes
Summary: Kageyama Tobio has a routine.Up, shower, dress, breakfast, classes, practice, work, dinner, laptop, show time.It’s simple, and it works for him. Kageyama has never been all that much interested in socialising—not to say he doesn’t like talking to people, but…honest, for the most part, he’d rather not be doing that—and there is comfort in a system that never changes. No matter what party he is invited to, what club meal or class drink or work social they try to wrangle him into, Kageyama does not cave, because the rest of his routine is waiting for him at home.And if he’s late, he will miss it.**Hinata is a well-known cam boy, and Kageyama is his biggest fan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ha ha i did a Thing 
> 
> Long story short I saw a post on tumblr a while ago about kagehina cam boys and I...couldn't stop thinking about it?? So here is this garbage enjoy

Kageyama Tobio has a routine.

Up, shower, dress, breakfast, class, practice, work, dinner, laptop, show time.

It’s simple, and it works for him. Kageyama has never been all that much interested in socialising—not to say he doesn’t like talking to people, but...honest, for the most part, he’d rather _not_ be doing that—and there is comfort in a system that never changes. No matter what party he is invited to, what club meal or class drink or work social they try to wrangle him into, Kageyama does not cave, because the rest of his routine is waiting for him at home.

And if he’s late, he will miss it.  

Today, Kageyama scrambles through the door at eight-thirty, and kicks his shoes off in the corner. There’s still plenty of time before the show begins, he knows this, but practice was _hard_ and work was _hard_ , and the holiday season turns customers in the store rabid, he swears, and all he wants to do is shower, _clean_ , and loosen the knots in his shoulders beneath the hot water.

Perhaps he should have known then, with this one simple change in the plan, that tonight would be different.

Dinner runs a _little_ later than usual, just a touch, but enough that Kageyama neglects washing the dishes—another switch in his daily routine—in favour of dropping to his desk chair and lifting the lid on his laptop.

Here, he always falters.

There is something that swims in his gut, lurking and heavy and bordering on painful, and Kageyama fits a minute (maybe less, maybe more on bad days) in his schedule to let himself feel guilty, before he opens the search engine and logs into his favourite web haunt.

If it were real life, the site would be a bar. A shady one, all blacked out windows and smoke swirling beneath the mood lights, crowds holed up in corners with high-collar jackets and low-brimmed hats, countless pennies rattling in bottomless pockets.

But as it stands, it is not real life, and Kageyama isn’t swirling a bourbon and watching the show. He is in his bedroom, in his sweats, and there is a glass of milk on the counter and a silence spread thick in all four corners.

And on his screen, there is a website, and on the website, there are videos. Hundreds of them, pages upon pages of results—and any number of them look good, Kageyama thinks, scrolling down through the first page and hovering over a couple of thumbnails. He’s got a little time, he could dip into a show or two, but—

—but Kageyama Tobio has a routine.

And so he waits.

The bedside clock ticks, and it booms in the silence. Fifteen minutes to go.

Ten.

 _Five_. Kageyama refreshes the page, and a new set of thumbnails burst to life on the screen.

Two minutes.

One minute. Kageyama hooks a shaky thumb in the waistband of his sweats and plays with the fabric, pulls it out and snaps it back at his hips. Refresh.

At ten on the dot, Kageyama reloads the page one more time, and a new thumbnail appears in the top left corner. Kageyama’s heart thrums in his chest and a warmth fills him, bubbles so much energy he is shaking with it, hand trembling as he hovers over the video, and clicks it.

The stream runs a little slow, at first, all crackly and pixelated at the edges, and Kageyama groans, wills his wifi to pick up pace and catch up with what’s going on on the other side of the camera.

The man in the video is adjusting something on the screen—Kageyama knows so, because those brilliant amber eyes aren’t trained on the camera, or on him, or on any of the viewers whose names bing up on the chat bar one after another after another. The man smiles wide and blinding, and Kageyama’s heart stutters behind his ribs.

After a moment more, the man sits back, so far that Kageyama and countless others can see the soft, bare skin of his torso, the pepper of freckles over his shoulders, and the hard edge of muscles trailing down his stomach. Kageyama licks at his lips, but the inside of his mouth is already dry, barren, tongue like sandpaper behind his teeth.

“ _Hello!”_

The man on the screen smiles wider still, flashing brilliant white teeth, and mere seconds go by before messages pop into the chat bar— _hi gorgeous!!_ , and _sexy_ , and _, show us your ass already_ —and at that, the man on the screen laughs.

“ _Patience!”_ He says, voice chiming through Kageyama’s speakers. “ _I’ve gotta introduce myself first, silly.”_

It’s flirtatious, for the most part, passes his lips through a cheeky smile and a wink of his eye, but Kageyama can hear the bite in it, with a kind of fire that burns up in him, too; tugs the corners of his mouth until they ache.

A flurry of messages tell him he doesn’t need to, that _we’re all regulars here_ , and, _we know who you are, give us a show_ , and as always, Kageyama is half in agreement. He, for one, knows exactly who this man is, because every night for the last four—maybe five, now, he’s lost count—months, he has tuned in to watch him.

Hinata needs no introductions, not where people like Kageyama are concerned.

Hinata wags a finger at the screen and pouts his lips.

“ _But it’s routine!_ ” he says, “ _Now hush, you’re ruining my opening.”_

A slew of lewd comments follow—all of which Hinata was expecting, he must have been, because there is no shock as he reads, only a slow, sultry smile and the bite of teeth at his lip. He nips until the skin bleeds white and his cheeks bruise pink, and when he next speaks, his voice is lower, soft around the consonants and cracking on the vowels.

“ _We’ll save all that for later, huh?”_

Kageyama bites back a groan, and hovers his cursor over the icons below the chat bar. There are five in total; like, dislike, share, comment, token, and Kageyama debates clicking the last one, sending real, honest money whizzing through cyberspace and straight into Hinata’s pocket, because other people have already begun paying up.

But Kageyama, so much as he _wants_ to throw money at the man, has never brought himself to push the button.

His fingers tremble, and he pulls them back, resting his hand instead atop his thigh and drawing little wobbly circles over the soft fabric. The tickle jostles him, and his back snaps straight in his chair.

“ _For the new boys,_ ” Hinata says, and Kageyama’s attention darts back to the video, “ _I’m Hinata._ _And t_ _onight, like every night,_ _I’ll be here from ten until...well, until I can’t go anymore_.”

Kageyama knows the truth of it. Some nights, Hinata will stay on for _hours_. On those nights he works himself slow, all soft touches and teasing fingers, lots of talk in low voices and the long, mounting build to the big finish. On other nights, though, the ones where the high bidders tune in, Hinata can only go for as long as his body will let him.

Which, when people start paying big boy prices for big boy entertainment, isn’t often all that long.

“ _Now that you know who I am, I’ll tell you how this all works.”_

The comments section booms once more, cries of _we know already_ , and _don’t tease_ , and a few other choice phrases crowding out the chat, and Hinata smiles, runs a hand back through his hair. The move curves him, stretches skin over muscle at his chest and bunches his shoulders, and Kageyama groans, sinking his hips lower on his chair.

“ _You guys make requests,”_ Hinata says, “ _and I’ll set a price. Bid enough tokens, and I’ll do it—whatever you might want_. _And for all the regulars out there whining, I’ve been shopping, so I’ve got some new items in my collection that I’d **really** like to try_.”

Kageyama knows all the toys and the tricks Hinata keeps up his sleeve, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get sick of them, but it’s...exciting, almost, to know that tonight, he might see something completely new.

Tokens fling into the chat bar, the number rising higher by the second, and Hinata waves his hands on a laugh.

“ _Slow down!_ ” He says, “ _don’t throw your money just yet. Nobody has made any requests!”_

Like clockwork, the regulars chime in. _Show us your dick_ , _show us your ass_ , _jerk yourself_ , _finger yourself_. The list goes on, all the usual asks and Hinata settles back to read them, one hand drawing lazy lines over his chest as he goes.

There are moments he must spot the dirtier requests—because there are always one or two explicit ones, the kind that either boil you up or crawl your skin, depending on what it is you’re into—because his cheeks flare the brightest prettiest pink Kageyama has ever seen. It happens all the time, and it’s...odd, almost, for somebody in Hinata’s line of work to get _embarrassed_ , but Kageyama supposes, no matter how high his pedestal might be, he is only human.

It’s endearing, in a way. Probably part of the reason he’s so popular on the site; he puts on a show, for sure, but there is a realness to it all that the other performers don’t have.

“ _Oooh_ ,” he says, and Kageyama watches the hand at his chest brush over a nipple—his back arcs up, just a little, chasing the stray of his fingers as they skim down his stomach, riding close to his hips. “ _Alright, we’ll start slow._ ”

Kageyama tilts the lid of his laptop and settles his hand back on his thigh.

“ _We’ll say, fifty tokens, and I’ll stroke myself for you_.”

Kageyama smooths his hand over his leg, down the inside of his thigh and squeezes the flesh. He’s shaking already, muscles trembling, just like always because Hinata, for whatever reason, works him up like nobody else. There is anticipation, and there is unbridled lust in his every shiver.

The tokens tick up fast enough, and as soon as they hit target, the demands flood in. Hinata goads them on with a thumb curled beneath the waistband of his boxers. He pulls the elastic out and snaps it back, and Kageyama’s skin tingles at the sound of it.

“ _Alright_ ,” Hinata says, “ _you guys win_.”

There is a long moment, after that, where Hinata keeps teasing himself. His palm runs low over his groin and he rubs at himself, hips lifting up into the press of his own hand. Kageyama mimics him; he’s already hard, straining behind his sweats, and he thumbs over the outline of his head, jerking into the touch and shuddering a breath.

Hinata moans, something tiny and stunted, and bites his lip, squeezing himself.

He always exaggerates how good it all feels. It must be part of the business, Kageyama thinks, because he _is_ performing, even if the base pleasure is very, very real. Today, he is being softer, holding himself back. Tokens ping, and Hinata pushes his boxers down over his thighs.

Kageyama has seen too many of these shows to count, and so he notices the difference immediately; Hinata has shaved.

Not bare, but everything is neater, tight little curls of red patterned like a runway at the base of his cock, and Kageyama isn’t the only one to notice. People in the comments fawn over the change, and Hinata offers a breathy thanks as he rubs a flattened palm over the head.

“ _You’re all too nice to me,”_ he adds, circling over himself. His head tips back and the long, pale stretch of his neck shines under the lighting. Kageyama wonders what it might be like to touch it, to run a finger over the soft skin, maybe even kiss it—Hinata would shiver at that, and he’d groan, and Kageyama would suck the pretty unmarred skin up between his teeth and bite, bruise, mark him.

It’d be nice, but there are hundreds of people watching who are, in all likelihood, thinking the exact same thing.

And Hinata isn’t thinking about any of them.

All he is thinking about, it seems, is the hand wrapping his shaft and the thumb playing at his slit.

Kageyama has never been a patient man, but he tries, he _does_ , to keep his own process slow. There is no fun in getting off before the best part, but it’s...hard to keep himself in check, where Hinata is concerned.

He eases his grip on himself through his sweats and stills his hand back on his thigh. The other waits close to the trackpad, cursor still sitting pretty over the token icon. It blinks at him, and Kageyama blinks back.

It’s not like he’s scared of spending the money. Hell, the money is already _spent_ , paid months prior for the package of tokens, but still, Kageyama has never before plucked up the courage to pay his share in Hinata’s shows.

If anything, it’s the loss of anonymity. Of course, his username shows up in the statistics time and time again, and if Hinata were ever to look close enough he might just realise how anal Kageyama is about being here, being on time, watching from start to finish no matter how long that may be, and it’d be _weird_. Of course it would be.

But the chances of Hinata doing that, and of Hinata _noticing_ are slim to none, and Kageyama very much likes it that way.

There are fantasies, wild ones, of meeting Hinata in person and all the things that would come after, but that is all they are: dreams. Kageyama is happy enough to keep them that way.

But to send a token, even just _one_ , will flash up his name, and Hinata might see him, and everybody _else_ might see him, and Kageyama is far more content to stay silent and hidden in the background.

To watch, and watch only.

He digs his nails into his sweats when Hinata croons, long and sweet, and squeezes once more at the base of his cock before moving his hand away. The skin is wet and shiny, and Hinata presses the back of his hand over his mouth, displays the sheen spread over his palm for everyone to see and swallows down one more moan.

“ _Good start,_ ” he says, a little shakily. “ _What’s up next?_ ”

Kageyama watches the comments pop up again, suggestions in big block capitals with pleases and thank you’s and kisses thrown in, and he wonders which Hinata will pick next.

There are options abundant to choose from. The simpler things—keep going, play with your balls, tease your ass—and there are the dirtier things, the specific requests, the call for toys with familiar names and cries for something new, to show his newest treats and trinkets.

“ _You’re all so eager tonight,”_ Hinata says. His hand has drifted back down to his cock but he is barely touching, just a light tickle of the tips of his fingers, but the touch is enough to have the flesh jumping, twitching for more. Hinata’s stomach muscles bunch tight, and he flattens his hand over them.

He hums, low and thoughtful as the collection of comments builds, and the tokens tick higher.

“ _We’ll start with the good stuff next, yeah? Another fifty tokens, and I’ll get myself ready for more.”_

Hinata doesn’t need to specify for the crowd to know what he means. In his head, Kageyama can hear them yelling. Every ping and pop and chime of the chat window, from the likes to the comments to the tokens, is a roar, a yell, and the smoky low-lit bar would be growing rowdy with anticipation. The other tables would be bare, save a few stragglers hoping to catch the best parts of the old shows, but most of the room would be right here, packed in the corner, throwing their pennies as Hinata spurred them all on.

Kageyama watches the tokens gather up fast enough. Hinata passes another fifty, and he reaches out of shot for a bottle of lube, squeezing a line out over his finger.

“ _How should I do it?_ ” He asks. It’s a question he always poses, and Kageyama is never sure if it’s for effect or real, actual guidance, because every time he looks inquisitive, and just the slightest hint of unsure. “ _Want me to lean back, spread my legs? Or hands and knees?”_

War wages in the comments as people vie for notice. It seems balanced enough, Kageyama thinks, watching the answers flock in, and in the end, Hinata leans right back on his elbows and curls his knees up to his chest.

He wriggles his toes as he gets comfortable, and it’s maybe something Kageyama shouldn’t notice, because his cock is on proud display between his thighs, and the clean-shaven skin of his balls and his hole sit centre stage, but the wiggle of his feet is _cute_ , and it’s hard to look away.

“ _This’d be easier if I had someone with me_ ,” Hinata says. He bends his wrist to rub a lubed finger over his entrance, and a low, hoarse chuckle bleeds out of him as the chat window lights up again. “ _So many volunteers. Any of you know how to work a camera?”_

With an odd jolt in his stomach, Kageyama remembers that yes, he _does_ know how to work a camera, that maybe his photography and film modules might not be so useless after all, because not a single soul in the comments has yet to say _yes_ in amongst the hoards of _I know how to work something, but it’s not your camera_ ’s piling up in the window.

For a moment, Kageyama debates saying something. It’d probably drown in the sea of comments filtering in before Hinata got a chance to see it anyway, especially now that he is slipping a finger in past the tight ring of muscle, eyes squeezed closed and mouth dropping open. Kageyama lets the tiniest moan slip past his lips at the sight and the sound of it echoes in the quiet of his room.

“ _I’ve been—ah—I’ve been waiting for this all d—day_ ,” Hinata croons quietly, biting at his lip and pumping his finger in and out, agonisingly slowly. “ _I’ve been s—so horny_.”

The dirty-talk always riles up the masses, and now is no different. Tokens and likes pour in, compliments abound, but Kageyama wonders if all the blushing and the stuttering, the shifty eyes and fumbling tongue are part of the act, of a persona, or if Hinata really _is_ just a little...shy about the whole thing.

It’s hard to believe that somebody so popular might be so unsure of himself, but Hinata plays it so _well_ , all the nervous glances and giggles and the thick, tripping conversation, that Kageyama is tempted to believe it’s not _all_ for show.

Hinata adds a second finger alongside the first, and Kageyama’s cock jumps in interest.

He’s imagined it time and time again, watching shows just like this, what it might be like to bury himself in Hinata. Warm and tight, he’s sure, because even with the amount of work he gets Hinata never seems open, muscles always sucking around fingers or toys, and _god_ he’d feel good. Soft skin, hot breath, all panting moans and groans, breathless whispers of, “Kageyama, f-fuck, Kageya— _ah_ —ma _.”_ Kageyama knocks his head back against the head-rest and squeezes his eyes closed.

Hinata, in the video, is panting, and the Hinata in his mind squeezes tight around his cock, scratches his nails down Kageyama’s back and passes wet, trembling lips close to his ear as he whines around his name.

“ _Mmm,”_ Hinata hums, sucks in an airy gasp, “ _I’m—I’m gonna stop soon, or this’ll be over before it really gets going_.”

Kageyama’s fantasy dissolves and he is left with the Hinata on the screen, eyes blown wide and shining, cheeks ruddy and hair dishevelled, a fine film of sweat sticking stray strands across his forehead. He looks _good_ , better even than he did in Kageyama’s head.

Next come the regular toys; there is a fleshlight, a little blue vibrator (a fan favourite), a dildo that might be huge, might just look it because Hinata himself is a very small person, and an assortment of buttplugs that are run through the mill until Hinata is ragged, the only thing keeping him from spending himself too soon being the ring fit tight at the base of his cock.

“ _Geez,”_ he pants, adding the dildo to the used pile and dropping back onto his knees. His cock bobs between his legs, flushed an angry red, and Kageyama watches a pearl of precum bead up and drip a line towards the floor. “ _You’re really working me today.”_

Kageyama glances at the clock. It’s pushing midnight, and the chat is lively as ever. The token total has piled impossibly high—the highest number Kageyama has seen yet, that he can remember—and Hinata looks, honestly, exhausted. Even kneeling, he is trembling through every breath, and there is sweat rolling over his shoulders, dipping between the straining muscles at his stomach. His hair is damp with it, though even with the added weight it doesn’t fall flat—never does, it seems, always sticking out at odd angles—and Kageyama almost wants to let him stop.

Almost.

But he is tented in his sweats, hard and aching with it, and Hinata looks so, impossibly good on the screen.

“ _I’m_ ,” he starts, but a groan cuts him off and his hips twitch up into nothing, cock bouncing where it stands. “ _God, I’m gonna—gonna need some incentive for this last one, boys_.”

The chat window flares to life once more, a stream of pleas, of people telling him they’re much the same, hot and straining and desperate to come, but only when Hinata does.

Kageyama snorts as he reads. His hips have been rolling steady against the chair for what feels like _hours_ , pulling a little friction from his sweats where they’re still covering him, hands holding the seat to keep from touching, from finishing too soon. He knows how they feel, he _does_ , but Hinata looks wrecked, spent and tired, and Kageyama feels bad, almost, for wanting this to continue.

“ _Okay, okay,”_ Hinata says, holding up a placating hand. _“One more. I’ve got two new toys to choose from. I’ll let you pick which one I use, and I’ll think on the price. Sound fair?”_

In amongst the chain of agreements, Hinata leans out of frame once more and pulls two new items with him. He settles back down with a hiss, face scrunched a little around his nose and Kageyama thinks the hot swell of his cock must be _painful_ , thinks how desperate he must be, how Kageyama’s name would sound on his tongue as he begged for release.

Hinata settles back on his knees. He’s sitting once more on his heels, legs spread wide, still panting even as he holds up the first of the two toys for the camera to see.

“ _So, this little thing arrived a couple of days ago,”_ he says, “ _in case you can’t tell, it’s a prostate massager, and I tried it out yesterday and it’s, like, incredible_. _That’s your first choice._ ”

Already people are screaming their yes’s, but Kageyama and, judging by the numbers, an awful lot of others are waiting for option number two before judgement is passed.

Hinata smiles at the camera and places the toy in front of his knees. The second toy is larger, black and shiny and...veiny, little raised lines carving patterns over the surface. Hinata rubs a fist around the length of it, smoothing over the head just like he does with his own cock, and casts hooded eyes up to the camera.

“ _This one,”_ he says, the slightest tremor cracking his voice, “ _I haven’t tried yet, but I saw it on the site and I couldn’t **not** buy it. I’ve owned a lot of dildos—whore’s a strong word, tjc16, but I’ve been called worse—I’ve owned a lot of dildos, but I’ve never had one that inflates before_.”

The bottom of Kageyama’s stomach drops out. Heat spills in him, aches a tight knot low in his gut because _oh_ , the possibilities. The toy isn’t small to begin with, and Hinata gives a few pumps of the little inflation bulb until it starts to swell, ballooning out in his palm.

Almost immediately, the arguments begin. Kageyama listens to the ping of notifications, but he doesn’t watch the flow the conversation takes. Instead, he watches Hinata. Both toys sit before him on the matt, and his eyes are no longer on the camera, instead trailing over the screen as comment after comment pops up.

There’s a pretty pink flush over his cheeks and his chest, burning out the freckles on his pale skin, and he is still trembling, still sucking his breaths, cock still straining to stand up towards his stomach. He doesn’t look...overly _happy_ , Kageyama thinks, which is strange because most nights, even so spent, Hinata is smiling, but today he is biting his lip as the comment reel runs, and the corners of his mouth aren’t even twitching.

Kageyama doesn’t like it.

This is going on too long; Hinata is aching, he can tell, and he is _tired_ , worked to the bone, and it’s not fair for everyone—himself included—to drag the rest of the show out for longer than it needs to be.

Kageyama hovers his cursor over the chat bar, and clicks it.

It occurs to him even as he types that his voice won’t make a difference. Whatever he says will drown instantly, swept away in the current, and Hinata will still have to wait, suffer in this messy, on-edge state for as long as it takes for everybody else to come to some kind of decision.

He types, and for a moment, he keeps the cursor paused over the send button. Hinata is licking his lips, palms running lines up and down his thighs as he scans the in-coming comments, and before Kageyama can talk himself out of it, he hits send.

_Massager. You look wrecked, idiot, don’t push yourself._

There is an instant kind of regret that fills him, and Kageyama sends his cursor zooming for the big red X in the corner of the tab because _god_ what if Hinata _sees?_ What if he spots his stupid comment—it’s not even _sexy_ , not like all the others. What if he sees it, sees his username, sees him in all the shows that follow and realises just how _weird_ he is?

Suddenly, Hinata is moving. Kageyama watches his weight shift, fly forward on his knees, and he braces one palm on the matt and the other disappears out of shot along with everything above his shoulders. Hinata makes a noise, a weird, non-sexy one, not a moan or a whine or a cry, just a _squawk_ , screeching up out of his throat.

 _“Uwaaaaah!”_ He’s still out of shot, but Kageyama can hear the smile in his tone as he says, “ _Volleydick9! So you **do** have fingers. I thought after all this time you maybe couldn’t type. Nice of you to join us!” _

Kageyama stares in _horror_ at the screen. Hinata is settling down once more, falling back into frame, and he’s still hard and hot and sweating but now he is smiling, a real, honest smile, stretching right up from his mouth to shine in his eyes as he blinks right at the camera, right at Kageyama.

His name—his own username—just...just came off Hinata’s tongue. Like he _knew_ it already.

Kageyama watches his message disappear in the flow. Hinata is still smiling, still staring, and then he leans forward once more and scoops up the little prostate massager.

“ _Massager, huh?”_ he asks. Kageyama nods dumbly at the screen, and Hinata turns the little thing over in his palm. And then he snickers, narrows his eyes and muffles his smile behind his fingers. “ _‘Don’t push yourself.’ Aren’t you sweet!”_

Kageyama’s cheeks grow warm. He’s _not_ sweet, he’s just not as much of an idiot as Hinata seems to be—waiting for a bunch of strangers to decide what he does with his body when he is already crumbling.

Kageyama tells him all of this, typing furiously with shaking fingers while Hinata spreads lube over the end of the massager.

“ _Oi, no need to be **rude** , volleydick!” _

Kageyama stares at the screen, jaw hanging loose, in part because Hinata is talking to him, and in part because they are _arguing_. On a live show. While Hinata has his dick out for hundreds, and Kageyama is hard in his pants for just one.

_No need to be stupid, “””spikemyballs”””_

Kageyama knows the moment Hinata reads his message. He squirts too much lube over the massager, shoots it over the back of his own hand, and his eyes light with real, honest _fire_.

“ _Oh yeah? Well no need to be…to be..._ ” he stills, falters, rolls his tongue for traction against some kind of insult, but he must pull a blank because instead of replying, he shakes his head, and wipes his lubed hand on a towel at the edge of the shot.

“ _Another time, volley,”_ he says, and then he settles back, just like at the start of the video. Weight on his elbows, knees tucked to his chest, legs open and everything on display.

The comments section is _buzzing_ , but Hinata is paying no mind, because he is too busy slipping the toy into place. His eyelids flutter and his hips twitch, shudder against the press of it.

“ _Ah—it’s not very big, but it—hng-ah! Oh, it hits all the right places.”_

Through the speakers, Kageyama can hear the low hum as the massager comes to life. Hinata peeks up at the camera, and when he does, Kageyama chokes.

His pupils have sucked up too much space, big and black and bottomless, and his lids are barely lifting, long lashes shadowing his cheeks, and his lips—they’re red, cherry red, shiny and welted where his teeth have bitten. Kageyama gives a loud, involuntary groan, and rubs a palm over himself.

 _You look good_ , Kageyama types, after a little deliberation. He wants to say so much more, to tell him just _how_ good he looks—how much Kageyama wants to touch him, kiss him, stroke the hard red length of his cock and play the massager in him until he’s keening, _begging_ for more.

He wants to tell him all that is happening in his head. Hinata beneath him, debauched and dishevelled, writhing on his cock instead of the toy. Hinata hot and tight around him, leaking over his stomach, stretching to catch Kageyama’s mouth on his own and panting his pleas right between his teeth.

Hinata coming beneath him, _around_ him, Hinata with, _“_ Kageyama, oh _fuck_ Ka-Kageyama, Tobio _,_ ” falling from his tongue as he does.

He wants to tell him all of that, but he can’t, and so instead he sends his mediocre message and he half-hopes that Hinata knows just how good he means.

“ _Thanks, volley,”_ Hinata breathes, the softest smile pulling at his lips. The toy is moving of it’s own accord, a rhythmic pulse that Hinata rocks his hips to, rolling and squirming against it. His arms are quivering with his weight, and as the toy gives another loud buzz, his elbows give out and he flops back, drops one arm over his eyes and scrabbles blunt nails at the matt beneath him with the other. “ _I f-feel good, too.”_

The rest of the comments spill out around them. Kageyama pays no mind, and Hinata doesn’t, either. He’s got his eyes squeezed shut behind his arm, and his feet are planted back on the ground, toes curling and flexing against the matt. There is a shudder to his thighs, so violent Kageyama can almost feel it, and—and if he were there, he’d kiss the trembling skin and soothe it with his palms. Hinata would whimper, and he’d moan, and his hands would grab at Kageyama’s wrist where he’d be pumping his cock, dragging every last ounce of pleasure from him that he could.

Kageyama tugs himself out of his sweats and rolls his palm over his weeping head, gathering precome and slipping it down the length of himself. It’s not going to take much, he knows, wound as tight as he is.

As the minutes go by, the comments keep coming, and the tokens pour in, and Hinata is panting, undulating his hips in time with the pulse of the massager and Kageyama is biting the collar of his shirt to keep from moaning too loud. He lives alone, now, but old habits really do die hard.

“ _Oh god,”_ Hinata chokes, and Kageyama chokes with him, heaving a deep breath through his nose and shuddering it out again. “ _Oh, I gotta come, guys—please let me come.”_

Hinata props himself back up on his elbows, bleary eyes searching for the chat window. Kageyama slows his strokes and watches, too, as the replies start coming. Some say yes, yes _please_ , come for us, and others are firm no’s, big and loud, all caps, keep going, more more more until you can’t _stand_ it.

“ _P-please,”_ Hinata whines, “ _I can’t—can’t—ah—take anymore. Let me—let me come.”_

Kageyama clicks the chat bar.

 _Come when you want_ , he types, _but keep talking. I want to hear you._

It feels dirty, somehow dirtier than just watching, to speak to Hinata like this in such an open forum, and dirtier _still_ when Hinata’s murky eyes skim over the words and his tongue folds them out of his mouth.

He groans, then, and fists one hand around his swollen cock. He lifts his gaze to the camera and it’s like he’s seeing through it, right through Kageyama’s screen to look him in the eye. He’s still all hooded lids and flushed cheeks, and when he nips his lip and strokes a line over himself, it’s so deliberate, so intentional, so aimed at _him_ that Kageyama’s whole body buckles beneath it.

“ _Can you—”_ Hinata starts, back bowing with another pulse of the toy against his prostate, “— _ngh—volley, can you give me your real name? I want—a-aah, fuck—I want something to moan when I come.”_

Kageyama’s brain short-circuits. The chat window fills with other names—real, full ones, first and last and even a couple of phone numbers to match, but Hinata doesn’t say anything. He just watches the chat, eyes half-lidded and hips rolling, and waits.

Waits for _Kageyama_ to respond.

Kageyama’s hands shake so much he struggles to find the right keys. His name is sloppy, misspelled and reworked too many times to count because Hinata wants to say it when he comes, during his show, in front of _hundreds_ of other viewers, and it needs to be perfect but Kageyama just can’t _type it out_.

In the end, he reads it over three whole times before he hits send. It’s silly, spending so much time on a name, but when it falls from Hinata’s lips he wants it to be _right_. No mistakes made by his clumsy, fumbling fingers.

Hinata’s eyelids flutter, and he tips his head back between his shoulders.

“ _Kageyama, huh?”_ He says, and heat, real, searing _fire_ zips up Kageyama’s spine.

“Hinata,” he says, though he knows he can’t be heard. Hinata’s breath picks up pace with the hand wrapping his cock, and the twitch of his legs grows sporadic. Kageyama can feel the heat winding in him, coiling tight.

“ _Kage—ha—Kageyama,”_ he’s taking on a high, keening edge, and the heaves of his breath are rasping, dragging up past his throat and squeezing tiny, tight moans along with them.

Kageyama’s body pulls in, a big C against the edge of the desk, and as it does, Hinata stretches out. He goes tense, and his cries grow higher still, and Kageyama watches the neat bow of his back from the floor, the twitch of his cock in his hand and the jerky cramp of his legs and he hears his name, _his_ name, falls again and again past Hinata’s lips as he spills up over his stomach.

Kageyama comes, too, snapping at the sight and the sound. He’s usually tidy, covers himself with a tissue or a towel or even just his own palm, but today he does none of those things. Instead he strokes himself through with Hinata’s name on his tongue, breathy and impossibly loud in the quiet of his bedroom, and shoots up over his own chest, big ropes that cling damp and sticky to his shirt.

In the calm that follows, Kageyama’s face burns.

Hinata— _the_ Hinata, the most well-known and well-loved cam boy in the business—just tumbled through the most intense orgasm Kageyama has ever seen crying _his_ name.

He pinches his thigh, but he’s a little disbelieving of the sting.

The comments die down, after that. People never hang around too long after the main event, just the odd few stragglers who sit through Hinata’s goodbye spiel, and today Kageyama watches the number of live viewers dwindle to next to nothing with mounting anticipation.

He’s half-hoping that Hinata will stay around long enough for the two of them to be the only ones left.

Even through Hinata’s goodbye, the numbers fall, and Kageyama chews on a nail as they creep all the way to the single digits.

Nine people left.

Hinata keeps on talking, thumbing a splatter of come from his chin and slipping it between his lips, and one stray token flies into his pocket. Kageyama eyes his untouched supply, and he waits. When they’re alone, maybe, he’ll pay a little forward.

Six people.

Five.

Hinata’s jaw stretches on a yawn. He’s rubbing his eyes, sleepy and satiated, and Kageyama wants so desperately to tell him to stay, just a little longer, because there are only three people left on the stream and soon they’ll be alone.

But Hinata is rounding off, Kageyama can tell. He’s heard this segment of the show time and time again, and he shakes his head as Hinata reaches for the camera. He angles it up for one last shot of his face, and then, with the laziest of smiles and a poke of his tongue, he shuts off.

And the last two people leave the stream.

* * *

Kageyama Tobio has a routine.

Up, shower, dress, breakfast, class, practice, work, dinner, laptop, show time.

It’s simple, and it works for him, and if there is one thing Kageyama usually _hates_ , it’s change.

Today, he gets home on time. He has his dinner on time. He even has room in his schedule to wash his dishes _on time_ , so things are already going better than yesterday.

And then he gets on his laptop, he loads up his favourite website, the smoky back-street bar opens out before his eyes and—

—and somebody is tapping his shoulder.

There is a message, a big red number _one_ flashing in the top right corner of the screen, over a little grey envelope icon.

He frowns down at it. There is still plenty of time before the show starts, so it’s not like opening it will be a huge inconvenience, but...but it’s not a part of his routine, and he can’t think of anybody who’d even want to message him.

Except…

But no. No, that’d be _stupid_. Why on earth would he allow himself to think for one _moment_ that Hinata might lower himself enough to send a message to his absolutely, positively _weirdest_ fan? Why on earth would he allow himself to think for one moment that he might be, even in the slightest bit, special?

Still, there is something hot and full brewing in his chest as he navigates the screen, scrolls his cursor up, up, up, to hover over the notification. Hope lodges thick in his throat.

And he clicks.

* * *

_One (1) new message from: **spikemyballs**._

_Oi, volley-yama!! Maybe next time, you can give me a face to come to instead of just a name, yeah?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The block of flats is an awful lot closer than Kageyama had ever dreamed it might be, twenty minutes by train and around the corner from the station, and it’s not...not really enough time for him to psych himself up for what it is he is about to do. 
> 
> That is, lose his virginity. To Hinata Shouyou.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just remember, you thirsty animals asked for this

Kageyama checks himself over in the mirror one last time.

In the last couple of months, his routine has changed. It’s not drastic; he still showers and he still dresses, still eats breakfast and goes to class, still goes to practice and goes to work and has dinner—the difference is that after the show, Kageyama doesn’t sleep.

Instead, he waits, breath held tight in his lungs, for Hinata Shouyou to send him a message.

Most nights, it comes quickly—within minutes of the show coming to a close, that little red _1_ will flag up and Kageyama will try his hardest not to feel too happy about it. And m ost nights, they talk about nothing—about each other and about the show, about their day, about some of the weirder messages that popped up in the comments that night, and sometimes, if they’re in the mood, their messages _might_ turn dirty.

Tonight, though, things are set to change.

Kageyama straightens out his bedding and checks the time. It’s pushing one-thirty, according to the clock by his bed, and as another minute ticks over Kageyama adjusts the books on his desk and smooths his hair down between his brows.

The room looks...well, it’ll have to do. It’s not _messy_ , not really, but the washing basket is a little too full and if he looks too closely, there are stains on the bed sheets that he should probably scrub out.

But, he thinks, sitting at his desk chair and letting out a long, slow breath, none of that will be visible from all the way at his desk.

Kageyama nudges the track pad and the screen blares to life.

The website is closed, now, no search engine tabs left open. The only application he has running is Skype, and the _second_ the clock hits one-thirty, a shrill, bubbly ring cries out from his speakers.

Kageyama stares at the call. The little icon is a familiar pale face, a broad smile and messy red hair, grinning so hard his eyes are pinched closed and for a moment, Kageyama squeezes air through the sudden tightness in his chest.

The call goes on, and Kageyama hovers his cursor over the little green phone, ready to press.

But no, he thinks, shifting from one button to the next, that isn’t what they had agreed.

Last night, sleepy and _doubly_ satiated from a chat session that bled on for a little too long, the pair of them had agreed that tonight would be the night.

Tonight, they’d finally speak face to face. Or, at least, camera to camera.

And so, Kageyama answers the call, and the little white light of his webcam ticks to life.

For a moment, the screen is blurry—just like with every show, and Kageyama waits with his thumbnail bitten between his teeth for the big, blocky pixels to settle.

When they finally do, Hinata is _staring_.

His eyes are _huge_ , big and blown and fixed right on Kageyama’s face. His jaw drops open, just a little, enough to spread a tiny _o_ about his lips, and a faint pink flush billows from the top of his nose and out.

Kageyama clears his throat, and flattens his hair again.

“Hi,” he says, awkward. Hinata doesn’t reply. For a moment, Kageyama wonders if perhaps the connection has frozen, because Hinata just...isn’t moving. Barely even looks like he’s breathing.

This can only be terrible.

Hinata is staring because he is _hideous_ , probably. Because in all the times they’ve talked, both during the live shows and in their private messages, all the things they have said and the things they have done behind their screens, Hinata has been picturing somebody much, much better than him.

Somebody with lighter hair, maybe, or brown eyes where his are blue, or maybe somebody _prettier_ , rounder, less sharp lines and sharper angles and most _definitely_ somebody less frowny.

Somebody entirely _not_ Kageyama.

He doesn’t suppose he’s surprised about it. He knows he’s not...ideal, not everybody's first pick, but he didn’t think he was quite _this_ awful. Hinata, though, seems to think so, because he is still staring and still blushing, flushed with humiliation, Kageyama thinks, at sexting  for two whole months with somebody who looked like _him_.

And then Hinata blinks, and smiles.

“Sorry!” He says, scratching his head and casting his eyes over the screen. He tilts the camera just a little, pulls it until his face sits a little too high in the viewfinder. “I just got a shock, is all. You’re…”

Kageyama grunts. He sits and he waits, for Hinata to tell him he’s got to go—that something has come up, some very urgent matter at half past one in the morning that cannot _possibly_ wait—but instead, Hinata smiles, earnest and _blindingly_ cute.

“You’re gorgeous, you know? It surprised me.”

 _Oh_. Kageyama feels his cheeks grow hot under Hinata’s stare and he looks way, scratches some crumbs from between his laptop keys with his nail. That, he had not expected.

“Don’t say stuff like that, stupid,” Kageyama says, glaring up at the camera, “it’s _embarrassing._ ”

“ _Uwaaaaah_ ,” Hinata says, “you really _do_ frown all the time. I thought it was just—” but then he stops, abrupt, and claps a hand over his mouth. Kageyama tips his head.

“What do you mean, _I frown all the time._  Where’d you—I’ve never said that, dumbass!”

Hinata jumps in his seat and waves both hands at his camera.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, “I just...got you confused! With someone else. Yeah, that’s it! Super sorry. Anyway! How was your day?”

“Good,” Kageyama says, squeezing his thighs together in his chair. It’s still sort of a novelty, just chatting to Hinata, but now that they are looking at each other, talking to one another, it hits him once again that this is...a _thing_. He and Hinata Shouyou have some kind of _thing_.

“Mine too! I know you heard a bit in the show, but like...that wasn’t even _half_ of it, you know? Loads of nice stuff happened, like, I got two free drinks from the vending machine, right? And a lady gave me her weekly bus ticket, so I don’t have to pay again until _Monday_ , and—sorry,” he says suddenly, scratching his neck again. “Sorry, I ramble loads when I’m nervous.”

Kageyama would very much like to know what Hinata has to be _nervous_ about. He does this all the time—granted, less...personal, but if anything this should be _easier_ , with only one person to please. He’d like to ask nicely, because he is honestly curious, but what he comes out with instead is,

“What the hell are you nervous for?”

Hinata gives an indignant huff and folds his arms over his—still bare—chest. Clearly, he has not dressed, not since the show finished and the thought sends a weird, hot rush down Kageyama’s spine. If he hasn’t put on a shirt, then perhaps, beneath the line of the camera, he still isn’t wearing _anything_.

“It’s super scary, that’s why!” Hinata says. “You could be like, a murderer! Maybe you’ll work out my address from what you can see in my room and you’ll—”

“—I can’t see anything _in_ your room, idiot Hinata!” Kageyama says. “And I’m not a murderer.”

“Could be, with that stare,” Hinata mumbles, just loud enough for the microphone to pick it up.

“I _will_ be, if you keep saying stuff like that.”

“ _Uwaaaaah,_ scary!”

Kageyama opens his mouth, then shakes his head. It shouldn’t make him _happy_ , talking like this, but it feels...comfortable, almost, like he and Hinata have been bickering in the same way forever.

Which is _stupid._

“Anyways,” Hinata says, “what’ve you done today?”

“Classes,” Kageyama says.

“What do you study?”

“Art.”

“Ooh, that’s awesome! Are you super good at painting?”

“No,” Kageyama says, squirming in his seat. “I can draw, though.”

“You’ll have to show me one day!” Hinata says. He’s so _loud,_  so enthusiastic about every word Kageyama has to say, and he can’t quite tell if it’s nerves or if he really _is_ just that interested. “I do sport science! It’s _hard_ and it’s not as cool as art, but it’s okay. What else did you do?”

“Work,” Kageyama says. “And practice, and—”

“—practice!” Hinata says, bouncing in his seat again. “Volleyball, right?”

“Yeah,” Kageyama says, “I play for my university team.”

“So cool!” Hinata croons, propping his chin on his palm and staring right at the camera. “What position?”

“Setter,” Kageyama says. “Do you play?”

Hinata wiggles in his seat.

“No,” he says, “I used to, back in high school, but I’m...pretty small, you know? And I hurt my knees having to jump so much. It’s okay though!” He says, and Kageyama realises with an ache in his forehead that his frown has dug deeper still. “I still...I like to watch.”

There is a change in his tone, then, that sets something in Kageyama’s stomach on _fire_.

“Volleyball players are…” Hinata swallows, shuffles. “They’re _hot,_  like, all tall and broad, strong legs, muscled arms…”

Hinata runs a hand beneath his jaw and down his neck, trailing his fingers over a nipple and hissing at the touch.

“Sorry,” he breathes, letting his hand fall away, “I just get...super easily worked up.”

“It’s okay,” Kageyama says. _Me too_ , he thinks, but the words don’t pass his lips. Hinata must sense them, though, because his palm comes back to smooth over his chest, taking a nipple between his fingers and pinching.

“You guys are just...so _big_ ,” he says. His head tips against the back of his chair and Kageyama finds himself once more staring a hungry line down his neck. He wants to kiss, to lick, to _bite_ the smooth, pale flesh until it grows red with his touch. “I bet you’re—I bet—”

For a second, Hinata ducks out of view. When he pops up again he is spreading lube over his fingers and kicking his desk chair back, just a little, enough that Kageyama can see down to his hips on the screen. Kageyama was right—he hasn’t dressed, and his cock is already half-hard between his thighs.

“You too,” he says, earnest, locking his heels on the edge of the chair and sinking low against the backrest. “Touch your— _mm_ —touch your cock for me?”

It's a development Kageyama hadn't wholly expected, but he definitely doesn’t need asking twice. He pushes himself back, too, and rubs a shaking palm over the crotch of his pants, squeezes over the outline of his cock.

“I bet you’re—you’re rough in bed, yeah?” He asks. Kageyama’s cheeks boil. “You’d _—oh_ —you’d pin me down, f—fuck me into the mattress. _Oh_ , I need that. I haven’t—with someone else in so long.”

Kageyama pulls himself out of his boxers, and Hinata _groans._

“You’re not even—not even hard yet and already you’re so—so big.”

Kageyama licks a stripe up his palm and gives a few tugs of his half-hard cock. It won’t take much, he knows; a little more of Hinata’s goading, Hinata touching himself like he is right now, slipping one lubed finger past his entrance and whining just like _that_.

Kageyama grabs a bottle of lube from his own drawer, too, and spreads some down his shaft.

“You’d—Kag’yama, _fuck_ , I want—I want you to spread me on your cock.”

Kageyama moans, and bites his lip to keep quiet.

“Can you— _hah_ —can you do that? Come open—open me up? I bet you’re so _good,_  huh?”

“I’ve never…” Kageyama trails away at the long, low moan that spills past Hinata’s lips. He jerks his fingers harder, milks his twitching cock with every touch.

“You've—” Hinata chokes, huffs, “you’ve never—what?”

“Had sex,” Kageyama breathes. The words come mumbled, _ashamed_ , but Hinata doesn’t laugh like Kageyama expected. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t jeer, just jerks his wrist faster, curling his fingers inside of himself.

“ _Oh_ fuck, I want—I want you. I want to—to be your first, feel you be—before anyone _—ah—haa—_ anyone else does.”

Kageyama’s brain _wipes_. A big, empty white space, nothing but hot, zipping pleasure and _I want to feel you before anyone else does_.

When he blinks back to life, Hinata is spent, too. There is a trickling milky white line over his stomach and, with his fingers dangling by his side, Kageyama can see his hole twitching as he struggles to catch his breath.

“ _S_ _hit_ ,” Hinata says, and then he laughs, wiping his fingers against his thighs. “I didn’t...wow, I did _not_ expect that.”

“What?” Kageyama asks. “Me having...not done that?”

“Well, yeah,” Hinata says, “but also for me to like, _like_ that so much, you know?”

Kageyama’s face burns and he occupies himself fishing tissues from his drawer, and cleaning the mess from his hand.

“It’s not like I’ve never had the chance,” he says, because it seems important, somehow, for Hinata to know that.

“I’m sure,” Hinata says. It doesn’t _sound_ like he’s joking, but Kageyama thinks he probably is. “I’ve never been with someone who’s, you know, _never_ done it.”

“Good for you,” Kageyama says, and Hinata sticks out his tongue.

“I’m just _saying_ ,” Hinata says, finally dropping his feet to the floor. The flush on his face turns an angry, cherry red, and for a while Kageyama just stares, chest aching. _Cute_. “I meant what I said. About...about wanting to be your first.”

“Oh,” Kageyama says, for lack of anything better. His mind is coming up blank, because—because Hinata wants to…

Wants to have sex. With him.

“I thought you were scared I’d be a _murderer_ ,” Kageyama says. “Now you wanna meet up? To have sex? With an actual potential murderer.”

“Some things are worth the risk,” he says diplomatically. “Look, I’m like...super tired, but I’ll give you my address and we can, I dunno, work something out?”

“Okay,” Kageyama says, mindless, fingers numb in his lap. Hinata types for a second, and then a message pings through.

“There,” he says, smiling wide. “I gotta go now! But hey, please don’t like, _actually_ kill me, okay? I'd rather you not do that.”

Kageyama flicks a finger at the the camera and shuts off the call, Hinata’s laughter ringing in his ears.

* * *

The block of flats is an awful lot closer than Kageyama had ever dreamed it might be, twenty minutes by train and around the corner from the station, and it’s not...not really enough _time_ for him to psych himself up for what it is he is about to do.

That is, lose his virginity. To Hinata Shouyou.

It’s stupid, but it’s all Kageyama has been thinking about since their web call. All those stupid fantasies, those impossible dreams, those long, quiet nights of rubbing himself through his boxers with Hinata behind his eyes, clinging to his shoulders, scratching at his spine and crooning his name as he clenches tight around his cock, of biting his pillow to muffle his moans as he spilled in his own pants, Hinata’s name on his lips—an endless list of daydreams that are really, actually, _honestly_ about to come true.

In the time he hasn’t been pinching himself over the entire notion, he has been googling. A lot.

The fact is, even with all of his vivid, colourful imaginings, with all of Hinata’s shows, with the words he has learned and the ways he has learned to wield them on paper, Kageyama doesn’t know the first thing about actually...having sex.

The internet is a veritable well of useful information, but there is an awful lot of thoroughly useless, downright _frightening_ stuff to sift through in order to find it. A lot of Kageyama’s searching has led him to horror stories, to pages with headings like _top five anal sex nightmares,_ and _how anal sex sent me to A &E_, _10 reasons to avoid sex altogether, help I think I got poop up my_ —and Kageyama has done a lot of very fast page closing and very deep breathing to get him through.

But even reading the _good_ sites, the helpful ones, Kageyama still isn’t entirely sure what he is supposed to expect.

Will he be on top? In all of his fantasies, he has been. It’s always been _him_ buried in Hinata, his shaft pressed snug and deep inside him, Hinata’s thighs curled up around his hips but what if—what if Hinata wants it the other way around?

Kageyama doesn’t think he’d be totally _against_ the idea, and it’s not like he’s never entertained the thought of having something inside him, not like he’s never tried it with a finger or two and entirely too much lube, but it’s...different. It’s different knowing it will be somebody else.

And even if he _is_ on top, what will he do? How hard should he go? How fast? Slow and deep or quick and shallow? Does he set a pace and keep it up, or is he supposed to change things, switch positions, switch his speed, his angle?

Kageyama has absolutely no idea, and that, perhaps, is what is making him nervous most.

With a deep breath, Kageyama wraps his knuckles on the flat door.

There is no use overthinking it now, not when he’s here. Not when he can hear Hinata’s feet pattering on the other side of the door, and not when the lock slides, when the handle turns, when the hinges creak and the door swings open.

Not when Hinata is standing before him, big, amber eyes blinking up at him in the sunlight, his pale, freckled skin dusted with the faintest blush over his cheeks and his mouth spread in a smile so wide it looks painful.

“Hi!” He says, giddy and a little short of breathless. Kageyama eeks out his own croaky hello, and Hinata steps aside to let him past.

Kageyama’s feet don’t move.

This is...really going to happen. Hinata is waving him into his home, where they will—where the two of them are going to—

“What’re you standing around for, huh?” Hinata asks, and Kageyama blinks. Right. Go inside.

“You’re short,” Kageyama says, in lieu of moving at all. It’s not a lie—Hinata is short, shorter than Kageyama had anticipated, but there is no real reason to point it out. Hinata goes red across his cheeks, balloons up with the biggest lungful of air and pouts his lips.

“I know,” he says, frowning, for all the world a petulant child, “but you don’t have to go saying it!”

Kageyama knows he should say sorry. He should apologise, tell him he’s just nervous, prove it with his sweaty palms and shaking fingers but instead, Kageyama shrugs. He shrugs, and his feet finally remember how to _feet_ , crossing the threshold and toeing off his shoes.

“I just didn’t expect you to be so...extra small.”

“You’re just—you’re a giant,” Hinata says, shoving the door closed. “I’m not even _that_ small, you’re just like...freakishly big.”

Neither of these things are true. Kageyama knows this, because he knows a number of people who are taller than him—most of them on the volleyball team, granted, which is a sport that tends to attract an awful lot of horrendously tall people—and he doesn’t know that many people who are shorter than Hinata. Not many twenty-two year old boys, that is.

Kageyama lines his shoes up next to Hinata’s. He’s got tiny feet, too, his nice shiny trainers dwarfed by Kageyama’s.

“If you’re done being super rude,” Hinata says, narrowing his eyes, “you can come inside for real.”

Kageyama chokes, and masks his splutter behind his hand. Hinata didn’t...he didn’t mean it the way it sounded, he can’t have, not when he’s still all frowning and pouty. He meant it like normal, like, _lets stop standing in the porch and go into the real house_ , but Kageyama has spent too much of his time reading dirty websites and his mind reels with the insinuation.

Hinata doesn’t stop in the sitting room. He bypasses the couch, the kitchen, points out the bathroom on the way down the corridor, and knocks open the door to his bedroom, beckoning Kageyama inside.

Oh. Oh, they’re just...going straight for it. Okay. This is all really, very fine.

Kageyama takes a good, long look around as he steps inside.

Hinata’s room is...less overtly sexual than Kageyama had imagined. He’d assumed it to be strewn with the lewd, with the salacious and the obscene, but Hinata’s room is surprisingly very bare. A little on the messy side with clothes strewn about the floor and a few too many used mugs for one person, but other than that, there isn’t all that much to look at.

Hinata sits on the bed and folds his legs up onto the mattress.

“Well...this is my room,” he says, and waves about a hand. “I was gonna tidy up, I swear, but I got _super_ distracted and I didn’t...I didn’t think you’d live so _close_ , you know?”

Kageyama nods. He’s still darting his eyes about the room, can’t bring himself to settle them on Hinata. There are a few pictures framed here and there, nailed up above his desk or balancing on his bedside cabinet, and there are places on the walls where little specks of blu-tack still sit, drying against the paint.

“What’ve you taken down?” Kageyama asks, pointing to the dots on the wall. Hinata waves his hands a little _too_ emphatically, and his cheeks bruise a little too red.

“Nothing! Just some old...embarrassing pictures. Don’t worry about it! Come sit down, huh?”

Right.

Kageyama bleeds a slow breath through his lips, and crosses to sit on the mattress. The springs squeak beneath his weight, creaking too loud with every move he makes.

They’re going to have sex on this bed. He and Hinata and the bed springs, booming in the quiet—what if his neighbours hear? Hell, everyone in _Tokyo_ will hear them, with a mattress so boisterously loud.

Hinata bounces his knees, and grins. The mattress groans.

“Stop moving so much,” Kageyama says— _begs_ —because the neighbours are going to think—they’re going to think they’re already doing it. Hinata draws his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them, burying a sheepish kind of smile against his thighs.

“Sorry,” he says, “I’m just...I’m super excited. I’ve been doing shows for like... _ages_ , and I get tonnes of offers to meet up like this but I’ve never—I’ve never done it before. I’m kinda nervous, you know?”

Kageyama had never really considered the possibility that Hinata might be a little anxious, too. He’d just assumed, with the regular shows and the way he talks, the things he does to himself for a crowd, the seemingly mindless way he plunges into _everything_ , that Hinata would be confident. That he’d be flawlessly ready.

Kageyama nods, and swallows, and then—in the time it takes him to blink—Hinata is right in his face, balanced on his knees with his palms braced _high_ up on Kageyama’s thighs, wedged in so close Kageyama can taste his breath on his lips.

“How do you wanna do it?”

An impossible question. What’s the right answer? What can he say that won’t make him sound totally, irrevocably _stupid_? Is he supposed to just...just go for it, be big and bold, or should he step back, keep cool, let Hinata take control?

“I don’t know.”

Hinata’s thumbs dig a little into his skin through his jeans. He is _warm_ , gives off so much heat Kageyama can feel himself starting to sweat, and he smells—he smells _good_ , minty and fresh and something a little heady, too; something that flutters Kageyama’s lashes against his cheeks and unfurls a lazy, bubbling heat in his stomach.

“Start slow, huh?” Hinata asks. His voice has gone _low_ , smooth and hot from his throat, like he sounds in all of his shows and it is such an abrupt change from before, from the high, giddy, bouncing tone he uses in normal conversation. Kageyama shivers, and nods.

“Okay.”

And then, Hinata is kissing him.

Kageyama has been kissed a few times. Drunk, slobbery, foolish kisses from girls in dark, sweltering clubs and boys in the back rooms at parties, but he has never been kissed like _this_ ; slow and soft, warm, wet lips pressing open against his, lit warm by the muted glare of the overhead light and strips of sun bleeding through the blinds, with a small, strong body easing into his lap and little, shaky fingers smoothing up into his hair.

He has never been kissed like this, with warm breath blowing over his cheeks and the gentlest, quietest moan wriggling up in his throat.

Hinata weighs nothing against his thighs but the feel of him, of every part of him where he and Kageyama are touching sits heavy in Kageyama’s chest, squeezes his heart and presses his lungs until they burn.

“Is this okay?” Hinata asks, words muffled into Kageyama’s mouth. He nods, and breathes, and Hinata slides one hand from his hair to his shoulder. His touch is light, barely there, as he trails his fingertips from shoulder to elbow, elbow to wrist, a tickle so fine Kageyama’s skin pinches in goosebumps.

“You can touch me, you know,” he says, wrapping small fingers around Kageyama’s limp wrist and lifting his hand from the mattress. He draws it up, around his back. Kageyama drags a few ragged breaths against Hinata’s lips, his shoulders shuddering with the effort it takes to pull air through the sheer _weight_ of everything on his chest.

Hinata kisses him again, licks the lightest sweep of his tongue against Kageyama’s lips.

Kageyama’s arm is stiff where it rests at Hinata’s hip, his hand fisted tight, knuckles barely brushing the fabric of Hinata’s shirt where it rides up his back. Hinata is _inviting_ him, letting him touch, but Kageyama can’t—he _can’t._ What if he does something horribly, humiliatingly wrong?

Hinata licks at him again, and those teasing fingertips smooth up over the back of Kageyama’s palm and to his fist, manipulate the tight curl of his fingers until they spread loose, and then he presses them, gentle, against the bottom of his back and arcs his spine into the touch.

Kageyama moans. Long and _loud_ , too loud, and Hinata takes the moment to slip his tongue between Kageyama’s teeth.

This kind of kiss, Kageyama is a little more used to. He doesn’t know soft but he does know desperate, and with every swipe of Hinata’s tongue he gives back tenfold, curls his spare hand up into Hinata’s hair and pulls, just a little, enough to fight a little groan from Hinata’s throat. The hand at his back presses tighter, and Hinata slips further up his thighs, closer and closer until they are flush chest to chest, hip to—

 _Oh_.

Kageyama pushes him back sharply, so quick Hinata squawks indignantly, and covers his face with both hands to hide the hot, raging blush.

Oh, oh _no_.

“What?” Hinata asks, prying at Kageyama’s wrists. He doesn’t budge, keeps furious pink skin hidden from view, and wills the blood pumping hard and fast in his cock to recede. “What’s the matter with you? Was that—was it not fun?”

Kageyama shakes his head.

“You’re not enjoying it?”

Kageyama shakes his head again.

“We can stop, if you want.”

Another shake. Kageyama doesn’t want to stop because it _is_ fun, he _is_ enjoying it—the problem is, he is enjoying it a little too much.

“What, you’re not having a good time, but you...don’t want to stop?”

Another big, long shake of his head.

“It’s good,” he says, behind his hands. “It’s...really, really good.”

Hinata’s fingers tangle around his wrists again and pull, but Kageyama doesn’t give. He’s too red. Any second now, he thinks, his feet will go numb, because surely there isn’t enough blood left in his body to supply anywhere but his cheeks and his stupid, traitorous dick.

“Then what’s the problem?”

In the least, Hinata doesn’t sound _mad_. Not angry or bitter or even sad, just...concerned, and maybe a little frustrated. Kageyama presses his fingers into his eyes.

“I’m hard.”

“Huh?” Hinata says, “I can’t—I can’t _hear_ you with your—get your hands away from your _mouth_ , stupid.”

Kageyama takes a big, long breath, and drops his hands. He doesn’t look at Hinata, not at his face. Instead, he stares at his shoulder, at the skin where the collar of his shirt has fallen away, and he keeps on staring at the little smattering of freckles there as he says again, through gritted teeth, “I’m hard.”

Hinata doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t laugh, doesn’t joke, doesn’t even _comment_. Instead, he fishes up Kageyama’s hand once more, and plants it right on the crotch of his own pants.

Kageyama’s eyes bulge wide.

“Me too,” Hinata says, squeezing Kageyama’s fingers around the outline of his cock where it, too, stands hot and hard beneath the fabric of his sweats. Kageyama groans, and drops his forehead to Hinata’s shoulder. Hinata brings a hand up and cards soothing fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “That’s what happens when you’re having _fun_ , you know.”

Kageyama’s mind whirls, heart pulsing a fast, erratic beat right behind his eyes. Hinata is firm beneath his palm, and with shaking hands, Kageyama squeezes him. Hinata breathes out the softest, most airy little, “ _oh_ ,” over Kageyama’s scalp, and his hips twitch up into the touch.

Hinata Shouyou is really, honestly here, straddled over his thighs, hard and eager in his palm.

It’s laughable, and laugh is what Kageyama does.

“Oi,” Hinata says, pushing Kageyama’s head up. “You’re not supposed to _laugh_ when you’re touching someone’s dick, _Bakageyama!”_

“Right,” Kageyama says, biting his amusement behind a big, wobbly smile, and craning his head to kiss Hinata again.

This time, it is Hinata that closes the distance between them. He slips the length of Kageyama’s thighs and settles right over the tent of his jeans, grinds his hips down and curls both arms right around Kageyama’s neck.

“How’s that?” He asks, and he rolls his hips in a long, languid circle. Kageyama gasps, chases the friction with a little, jerky rut, and Hinata grins against his cheeks, does it again and again, draws whines from Kageyama’s throat and a hot coil in his stomach, until Kageyama stills him with both palms firm at his waist.

“Stop,” he says, “stop or I’m—I’ll—just _stop_ , for a second.”

Hinata does as told, but Kageyama can still feel the wicked spread of his lips.

“Just a second?” He asks. Kageyama palms his face away and scoots out from under him, flopping to lie back on the mattress. This is _embarrassing,_ he thinks, listening to the bed springs creak beneath him; it’s humiliating, being so _easy_. Being so close with nothing but kisses and the barest roll of Hinata’s ass against him through four whole layers of clothing.

“It’s okay if you’re not gonna last long, you know.”

“Oi, who says I won’t last long?” Kageyama snaps, but they both know that he won’t. Not at all. Hinata shrugs a shoulder, and tugs his shirt up over his head.

“It’s totally normal, is all I’m saying,” he says, pulling the tie on his sweats and shimmying them off, too. Kageyama watches each new flash of exposed skin with wide, unblinking eyes and his tongue plastered to blisteringly dry teeth. “And like...there are a _lot_ of things I wanna do, but they can wait until next time if you don’t wanna, like, come too soon or anything.”

There is no shame, none at _all_ , as Hinata rolls his boxers off too and sits, cock standing proud and _deliciously_ flushed between his thighs. He is leaking, pearly beads of pre-come budding at his slit and dripping a line down the underside of his cock.

“So just...don’t worry about it too much, is what I’m saying,” Hinata goes on. Kageyama blinks—he’s not entirely sure what Hinata has said, too distracted by his pretty pink head, wet and shiny and bobbing to reach his stomach. He wants to touch it, to _taste_ it. “We can try more stuff later, if you just wanna... _do it_ , right now.”

“Yeah,” Kageyama says, hoarse, as Hinata draws a palm up over himself.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Get your clothes off then,” Hinata says, and he strokes himself a little harder, rolls his palm over his head and spreads slick all over his hand. “No need to be shy; it’s nothing I haven’t already seen, right?”

“Right.”

Kageyama tugs off his shirt. He has nothing to be self-conscious for; he’s bigger than Hinata, taller and broader and wrapped in more muscle, but there is something mouth-watering about the way Hinata looks, slim yet strong, smooth skin dusted in the lightest map of freckles. They’re even more noticeable here, in person, than they are through the camera and Kageyama draws constellations with his eyes, finds little patterns against the pink flush of his chest.

Kageyama, with his smooth, unbroken tan, his unmarked skin, is boring in comparison.

His jeans go, too, and as he draws them over his thighs Hinata pumps himself harder, spreads his knees further over the mattress and keens high into the air.

“You look good,” he pants, fucking up into his own fist, “better—better than on— _ah_ —on camera.”

Kageyama kicks his jeans from his feet and tugs at his socks, too, throws them all to the floor until he is bare save for his boxers, the shadow of his cock visible against damp, sticky fabric.

“You’re so—so desperate, huh?” Hinata asks. Kageyama tries to swallow, but his mouth is too dry. “I can’t—Tobio, god, I can’t wait to feel you i—inside of me.”

Kageyama gives another too-loud moan and topples back again, head cushioned on Hinata’s pillows, with the back of his wrist pressed over his mouth. Hinata crawls up over him, one knee settled between his thighs and one hand braced beside his head, the other still stroking himself in quick, sharp jerks that draw low, gasping breaths from his throat.

“You—you gonna fuck me good, yeah?” Hinata is blushing, cheeks burning red, but even in his apparent embarrassment his voice is steady, _needy_ in the stagnant air. “I want—you’re so big, Kageyama, you’re gonna—gonna make me so full.”

Kageyama swallows again but this time, he chokes, mouth _too_ dry, too barren. Hinata looks down at him as he tries to get his breath, and after a moment, he sits back and still his hand, squeezing the base of his shaft.

“Water,” Kageyama rasps.

“There’s bottles in the fridge,” Hinata says, rolling his eyes. Exasperated though he might be, there is still a weird, fond kind of smile on his face as Hinata says, “It’d be real nice if you didn’t like...choke and die, the first time we do it.”

Kageyama gives him the finger and stands—his thighs are trembling, shaky as they take his weight—and stumbles from the room.

It’s cooler out in the corridor, cooler still in the kitchen, and as the chill air from the fridge bleeds over him, Kageyama’s head starts to clear.

It’s not so overwhelming, out here, sipping his water and gathering his thoughts. He is excited, so excited he is shaking, that in—in no time at all, really, he will be inside Hinata. Buried to the hilt, watching him squirm on his cock, impaled on the length of him (because Hinata is only small, and Kageyama is...not) and crooning for more, for him to go harder, to go deeper, to fill him until he can’t take anymore.

It’s...going to happen. Today; now, when he gets back to the bedroom, when he fingers Hinata wide open, gets him soft and slick and ready, maybe even gets to taste him, to tongue him until he is pliant, a shuddering, whining mess on the mattress, begging to be filled.

And _god_ , he gets to do that. He gets to ease his cries, to slip into him—long and slow, he thinks, will be best, to listen as Hinata groans, pants, cries with every inch that fills him. He gets to hold him, to pin his hands and take control, or maybe, maybe, Hinata will ride him. Maybe Kageyama will get to lie back on the pillows, hold Hinata’s hips and let him work himself, lift himself up and slam himself down again and again until he is boneless, trembling, wet red cock spilling ropes over Kageyama’s chest.

The possibilities are _endless_ , and Kageyama wants to try every single one.

He palms his eager cock over his boxers to soothe the desperate, needy ache in him, closes his eyes and he swears—he _swears_ he hears Hinata cry out, just like he would as Kageyama takes him. He’d cry and whine and heave his breaths, wrecked and pleading for more more _more_ , and there he is again, moaning, keening in some deep, distant corner behind Kageyama’s closed eyes.

He rubs himself over, smooths the slick, wet patch over the head of his cock with his thumb, and bites the tip of the water bottle to keep from crying out.

“ _To—Tobio_ ,” the Hinata in his head cries, spread wide around him, head lolling back between his shoulders as Kageyama holds them chest to chest, mouth open, a stream of high moans spilling past his lips. “ _Tobio, c’mon, I—I need you_.”

“Tobio!”

Kageyama pauses the hand on his cock, and listens.

From up the hall, he can hear panting. Desperate, needy panting, broken by whines or moans or tiny, gasped versions of his name— _his_ name—tumbling from Hinata’s mouth.

The real Hinata. The Hinata on his bed, cock hard and pink and ready, waiting for Kageyama to come back to bed and—

—and fuck him.

Kageyama abandons his water bottle back in the fridge and bolts up the corridor. What is he _nervous_ for? This is his dream, this is every damn man’s _dream_ , every single one who tunes in to Hinata’s show has thought about it, fantasised about it, and here he is—he gets to do it.

Kageyama pushes the door, and freezes.

Hinata is still on the bed. He is, but he is no longer kneeling, no longer stroking his cock. He is lying flat, heels kicked up against the backs of his thighs with one hand clawing at the sheets and the other—the other is reaching around his back, pushing three bunched fingers in and out of his hole.

He rolls his eyes to look over his shoulder, and grinds his cock deeper into the bed sheets. The muscles at his thighs and his ass and his back pinch, skin sweaty and shimmering under streaks of sunlight. Shaking, Hinata drags his hips off the mattress and arcs them up, knees digging into the bed until his ass waves in the air, wet and sloppy and open on his own fingers, and his chest is pressed into the bedding.

“I thought—thought you might’ve l—left,” he wheezes, wiggling his hips and drawing slick fingers out of his entrance, cupping one cheek and spreading himself open for Kageyama to see. “I got—I got impatient. Thinking about having you in me. _Please_ , Kag’yama, c’mon—I’m—I’m so ready, I’m all—all slick and re— _ah_ —ready for you.”

Kageyama unsticks his tacky lips and trips over his feet to get to the bed. Hinata lifts his ass up higher, cheek digging into his bed sheets. Stepping right up to the bed, Kageyama can see a huge, damp patch on the clean grey sheets, a puddle of pre-come and lube spreading wider with each drip from his cock.

“There’s—there’s condoms in the drawer,” he says, and with his slippery wet hand Hinata fishes up the lube, tossing it to the edge of the bed. “Hurry up, I’m—I need— _please_.”

Kageyama’s fingers tremble with the condom. He’s put them on before, for cleanliness sake, but never before has he _needed_ one, never before has he wanted so badly for it to be magically on him, for him to be wet enough and slick enough, to not have to waste precious time getting ready when he has Hinata pleading for him to spread him open.

There is a constant, low mantra of, “c’mon, c’mon, _c’monnn_ ,” coming from Hinata’s lips as Kageyama pushes down the hem of his boxers until the elastic sits below his balls—taking them off will take too long, waste more time he doesn’t have—and rolls the condom on with shaking hands. He uses too much lube, knows the minute he loosens the cap and pours, and it spills between his fingers to stain a second patch onto the bedding. If Hinata cares, he doesn’t voice it.

His tongue is too busy rolling over Kageyama’s name, hips fucking back onto _nothing_ while Kageyama slicks up his cock.

“I’m—” he says, scrambling up onto the mattress and spreading Hinata’s cheeks, slipping his cock between them. “I don’t—how do you—”

Kageyama squeezes Hinata up around him. _Oh_ it’s good, soft and warm cupped in the cleft of his ass, and he gives a few slow, experimental thrusts. Beneath him Hinata nods, encouraging, and shoves back against him. With every forward jerk, the head of Kageyama’s cock catches at his rim, threatening to break through and each time, Kageyama hopes more and more that it will.

“Is this—” it feels stupid asking, burns his cheeks, but even in the moment, with Hinata this close, this warm, Kageyama is still a little too scared of doing something wrong to keep quiet. “Is this o— _oh, fuck_ —okay?”

“No, stupid, I hate it,” Hinata wheezes, rolling back with every forward glide of Kageyama’s cock. “I really, really hate it.” He undulates his spine, this time, and the head of Kageyama’s cock pushes against him enough to sink a little way into him before it pops out, and Kageyama’s hips jump forward. “Of course it’s _okay_.”

“How am I supposed to know, stupid,” Kageyama grumbles, fisting Hinata’s cheeks and bunching them up around him.

“I dunno,” Hinata says, “I’m not like, an expert, but— _oh, shit_ , oh, do that—do that again—just like that.”

Kageyama stills, hips drawn back, head pressed right against Hinata’s hole, and as he slides forward he presses two fingers against his shaft, pushes to keep his cock from gliding over him and instead, he starts to slip in.

“ _Y_ _es_ ,” Hinata breathes, an airy sob bubbling from his throat, “yeah, like—like that— _aah, hng—_ m—more.”

It’s not as easy as it is in all his fantasies. There is no magical pop-slip moment, no quick, slick glide to the hilt. Instead it is slow, a careful, shaky push forward, stopping and starting in time with the noises that bleed from Hinata’s mouth.

“Slow,” Hinata breathes, backing himself up as Kageyama moves forward, “you’re—fuck, you’re so big.”

“Too much?”

“No,” Hinata sighs, spreading his knees a little wider and scratching at the bedding, “no, it’s _perfect_.”

Kageyama can’t stop staring. The skin where Hinata is stretched around him is a smooth pink, and when Kageyama brushes his thumb over it, Hinata keens, biting into the sheets and sinking further down his shaft.

“How much—how much more?”

“Nearly there,” Kageyama breathes. His eyes are blown wide, staring at the point where Hinata is swallowing him up, watching himself disappear inside him. Two more agonising inches. One. _Nothing_. “That’s it,” Kageyama breathes, voice shaky. Hinata lets out a breathless little laugh and pushes back _hard_ , wiggles his ass against Kageyama’s groin.

“Congratulations,” he says, raising himself up on his elbows. “Give me—give me a minute.”

It’s perhaps the longest minute if his _life_ , waiting for Hinata to adjust to him, wrapped tight in heat and warmth and pulsing muscle. Every part of him is screaming to _move_ , thighs shaking with the effort of holding back, of keeping steady, and as soon as Hinata gives him the okay, Kageyama pulls all the way back, and slides home again.

“ _Oh_ fuck,” Hinata breathes, and through hooded eyes Kageyama watches where the bed sheets stick to Hinata’s tacky mouth. “Yeah, like—like that. You can go— _oh—a-aah_ —you can go har—harder.”

Kageyama grips at Hinata’s waist and bows over him. He wants to be _closer_ , to feel more of Hinata against him, and with his cock buried all the way inside of him Kageyama nudges Hinata’s thighs further apart with his knees, pushes down on his spine until together, they sink right the way down to the mattress.

Hinata chokes a few gasps and grips the sheets harder, desperate to catch his breath as Kageyama settles his weight over his back.

“‘Yama,” he breathes, and for a moment Kageyama stills, weight bared on his elbows while Hinata struggles between grinding his flushed, swollen cock into the mattress or pushing back onto Kageyama’s shaft.

“How’s— _shit_ —how’s that?”

Hinata nods, frantic, nods and nods and nods while Kageyama sets his pace—he keeps his thrusts slow and shallow, a roll of his hips against the swell of Hinata’s ass, with one hand keeping the bulk of his weight off of Hinata’s back and the other sliding over the bedding, slipping up the back of Hinata’s wrist and threading their fingers together against the sheets.

Kageyama lets his face drop into the back of Hinata’s hair, and breathes. Hinata was, grudgingly, correct; he’s not going to last long at _all_ , not with Hinata sucking him in with tight, clenching muscles and certainly not with the sounds that are spilling out of him.

“I’m—make me come, Kageyama, _please_ —I need—I need to— _please_.”

Kageyama’s thrust grow jerky. There are noises pouring from his own mouth, too, and the bed springs _shriek_ as he moves faster, moves harder, chasing the heat winding low in his stomach. He wants Hinata to come first, he _does_ , and he can imagine it—imagine him growing tighter around him like all the websites say, feel the muscles spasm, feel his body shudder and hear his own name, “ _tobio, tobio—tobio!”_ again and again until he has nothing left to give.

“I’m not—I’m gonna—” Kageyama sucks in a sharp breath. Hinata turns his head right to one side, presses the flat of his cheek to the sheets and huffs out little tinny cries every time Kageyama drives into him.

“Come—you can—you can come—”

Kageyama buries his nose against Hinata’s cheek, breathes hot, open mouthed kisses over his skin and—yes, _yes_ , he pushes in deep, so hard Hinata gasps with it, and spills inside the condom with a few short, jerky thrusts to work himself through.

“Good—you feel so—so good,” Hinata breathes, arching his ass back, taking Kageyama as far as he will go. “I wanna— _hng_ —I wanna come.”

Kageyama is wilting already, he can feel it, but Hinata is so close—sounds so close, words whining from his tongue, and there is a quick, rhythmic rock of his hips down into the mattress. He props himself up on his elbows and drops his chin to his chest, panting with his effort and his need, and with his cock still in him, Kageyama grinds too, rolls his hips and laves kisses against Hinata’s cheek, his ear, the back of his neck until he gives a long, sharp cry, and shoots over the mattress.

They drop, the both of them, spent onto the bed. Kageyama can feel every last part of him trembling, from fatigue and from the shock, perhaps, of having done what they just did. Of being inside Hinata, of _coming_ inside him, of feeling him come around his cock—

“This is nice,” Hinata wheezes, “and I’m _all_ for post sex cuddling, but you’re _really_  heavy.”

Kageyama grunts into his neck and sits up. It takes an awful lot of effort, both mental and physical, to grip the ring of the condom to stop it slipping away, and even _more_ to tie it in a knot and toss it in the bin.

“ _Aaaaah_ ,” Hinata sighs, rolling onto his back. “That was really good. Good job.”

“Thanks,” Kageyama says drily, “where’s my gold star?”

Hinata aims a weak kick at him.

“You get a lollipop instead,” he says, giving a thumbs up. “And a big sticker for a job well done.”

Hinata heaves himself upright, and crawls over to pepper a few light, tickling kisses around Kageyama’s mouth. He’s settling already, easing his weight against Kageyama’s thighs, and there is warmth where his fingers tease up the length of Kageyama’s arm.

“Nope,” he says, nudging at Hinata’s sweaty skin. “You’re sticky and you’re gross. And the internet said I have to wash my dick so I don’t get a UTI.”

“ _Gaaaah_ , why you gotta ruin the moment, huh?” Hinata wails. “Nobody actually gets UTI’s from sex.”

“I don’t wanna wreck my first time by pissing lava for a week because _you_ wanted to cuddle.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Hinata gives, dropping back to the bed and gesturing to the door. “Go clean your penis. I’ll wait my turn.”

True to his word, Hinata is still on the bed when Kageyama returns, fresh-skinned and lube-free, and when he bounces his way past he stretches up on his tiptoes and presses a long, languid kiss to Kageyama’s lips.

“I’m gonna shower,” he says, “make yourself at home.”

With the door shut and the muffled drip of running water echoing about the room, Kageyama props a hand on his hip and looks around. He should dress, really, but his boxers are still sticky and his jeans are too coarse to wear bare.

Hinata is too small to borrow from, he is sure, but...but surely, wearing a pair of Hinata’s shorts is better than wearing _nothing_.

And Hinata _did_ tell him to make himself at home.

There are multiple sets of drawers strewn about the room, and Kageyama tries each in turn—most are full of rubbish, papers and pens and loose batteries, odds and ends with nowhere to go, but none of them, it seems, contain any _clothes._

“Does this idiot even _wear_ clothes?” Kageyama grumbles, slamming the last drawer closed. Probably not, he thinks, sighing out a breath and pulling open the doors to the wardrobe.

There are clothes in here, plenty of them, haphazardly stacked and hanging from hooks, but before Kageyama really gets to look at them, a little pile of papers tumble out at his feet.

They land face down, each of them with little specks of blu-tack decorating the corners. Curious, Kageyama kneels on the carpet, and turns the little stack over.

There are four of pieces of paper. One is a promotional poster, a well-lit snapshot from a flattering angle, watching from below as he, Kageyama, jumps into his set and their teams ace flies into the air for his spike.

Two are torn from the school paper—a team shot, Kageyama standing centre with the big white number nine on his jersey, and a solo photo, in his shorts and his jacket with a volleyball tucked under his arm.

And the other is from a flyer, a club fundraiser, each player butt naked save for their shirts bunched up over their crotches. Most of them are laughing, or else winking, grinning with their tongues poking out and their fingers held up for the camera. Kageyama, though, is frowning just like always, holding his crumpled shirt firmly in place with two white-knuckled hands.

Kageyama stares at each picture in turn as his brain whirrs to catch up with exactly what he’s seeing.

Hinata, keeping four— _four_ —pictures of Kageyama up in his wall. Hinata _spikemyballs_ Shouyou, knowing exactly who he is—and liking him _already_. Liking him before today. His mind stumbles over _you really do frown all the time,_  and _volleyball players are...they’re hot_ , and Hinata’s big, shocked face the first time he saw him, and suddenly, it makes a lot more sense.

It should be _weird_ , perhaps; should creep him out, make him want to run, but…

But the bedroom door opens, and Hinata steps in, humming under his breath. He kicks the door shut behind him and then he sees Kageyama, and he sees the posters, and—

“ _Aaaaah_ , no no nonono,” Hinata says, and Kageyama starts, dropping the pictures onto his knees. Hinata’s towel flops to the carpet as he runs over, snatches the papers from Kageyama’s lap and gathering them up. “Where did you get these?” He hisses.

“They fell out your wardrobe.”

“What were you doing _in_ my wardrobe?”

“You told me to make myself at home!”

“So, what,” Hinata says, clutching the rolled up posters tighter to his chest, “you just...open wardrobes in your own home?”

“Yes,” Kageyama says, “because I keep wardrobe-things in there, like clothes, and shoes, not creepy stalker posters of university volleyball players.”

Hinata huffs, and shoves the posters back in the wardrobe.

“I’m not the creepy stalker one here, _volleydick9_ , mister-I-watch-all-your-shows—”

“—that’s—that’s not the point.”

It’s not, but it is a _good_ point. Kageyama is in no place to judge, and...and honestly, Kageyama doesn’t _want_ to judge. He’s weirdly happy, giddy and fizzing, strangely ecstatic that Hinata has been admiring him, too. That Hinata was probably just as excited, as nervous about this as he was—because Hinata already _liked_ him.

Kageyama rubs his smile away with the back of his hand. Hinata is slamming the wardrobe doors closed, and when he turns, he looks _antsy_. His wiggles his toes together against the carpet, and wrings his hands in front of his chest.

“Pretend you saw nothing?” He asks, and Kageyama nods his head.

“Nothing seen,” he says. Hinata sags his shoulders and scratches his neck, and then he kicks at Kageyama’s thigh and ushers him up off the floor.

“If you’re gonna sit somewhere, sit on the bed,” Hinata says. Kageyama stands, and stretches, popping a big long line down his spine as he does. Hinata shakes himself off, leaves the posters and the conversation back in the wardrobe where they belong, and shoves his weight against Kageyama’s back until he moves over to the bed.

Kageyama flops down onto his stomach and rests his head on the pillows. Hinata, too, lies beside him, rolls onto his side and thrusts an arm up under his pillow, stretching himself out over the mattress.

“So I’m thinking next time,” Hinata says, tangling his feet into the rumpled sheets. “Maybe I can do you? If you wanna try that, or maybe I can ride you? That’d be fun, but I like doing that for _ages_ so you could maybe wear a cock ring? You’ll last way longer—”

“—it was my first _time_ —”

“—I know, I know, but it’ll feel even better when you do come, I swear. And—” Hinata gasps, then, and sits up, shaking Kageyama by the shoulder. “You can do a video with me! How fun would that be? I’d share like, a quarter of the money with you too—”

“—I’m not doing that, _ever_ , for less than half—”

“—a _third_. And we could—have you ever tried sounding? It’s kinda weird, but I think you might like it. _And_ I still haven’t tested out the inflatable dildo, right? It’d be super fun to have somebody else controlling it—maybe you could blindfold me too!”

Hinata goes on, and Kageyama lets his eyes drift closed. Maybe he’s not supposed to stay—they never agreed on it—but Hinata is droning on, all giddy and excitable, and Kageyama feels soft down to his bones, warm and happy and fuzzy in a way he has never felt before in his life.

And so, he drifts, and Hinata talks, and maybe, in a couple of hours, they can wake up and try something new.

They do, after all, have a very long list to get through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaahahaha there you go!! Part 2 of cam boy hinata and his biggest fan kags 
> 
> I hope it lived up to your expectations!! Thanks again for any comments/kudos/bookmarks etc, and as always, come scream at me on tumblr @ someone-stole-my-shoes if you want to talk more kagehina with me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “—it’s three o’clock,” Kageyama says, “on a Thursday. I don’t want beer, I don’t want juice. I want to know why you’re—” he gestures vaguely to Hinata’s whole, squirming torso, “—doing that. What, you got worms? Do you—did you catch something? Have you given me crabs because I swear to god—”
> 
> Hinata balks, waving his hands in the space between them to shut Kageyama up.
> 
> “No, oh my god. I don’t—I don’t have worms, or crabs, or any other…parasites. I’ve just got this, and I’m super excited about it.”
> 
> This, as it turns out, is a rumpled piece of paper. Hinata holds it flat on his palm, flicking his eyes between it and Kageyama’s face. He hops a little on his toes, and pushes his hand right up under Kageyama’s nose.
> 
> “It’s a list!” He goes on. “I thought about it all after our first time, but there was just so much stuff I didn’t wanna forget, so last night, I finally wrote it all down!”
> 
> Kageyama blinks down at the wad of paper.
> 
> “A…list,” he says slowly. Hinata nods, frantic. “A list of what?”
> 
> “Things we can try! Like, you know, sex stuff.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know some of you will have seen this on tumblr, and I debated not putting this chapter in with the rest, because I don't think it's gonna be everyone's cup of tea, BUT THEN I decided the little bits of character development are important so here hopefully u enjoy this small nightmare

The moment Hinata opens the front door, Kageyama knows something about today is going to be different.

He’s giddy, bouncing on the balls of his feet and shuddering great, excitable breaths, even as he ushers Kageyama inside and closes the door behind him.

“You want a drink?” He asks, before Kageyama even gets out his hello. “I’ve got loads of water in the fridge, or I can make you tea? Or I bought that milk you like, the extra creamy stuff, or there’s coffee, if you want it, but that’s probably a super bad idea—”

“Hinata,” Kageyama says, stopping him short. Hinata’s breath catches sharply in his throat. He bites at his lip, and the longer Kageyama watches him, the more aggressively he writhes where he stands. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you being weird?”

“Nothing! I’m not being weird at  _all_.” Hinata says, too quickly. He fists his hands together behind his back, and wiggles on the spot. Something crinkles between his palms.

The tiniest tendrils of dread unfurl in Kageyama’s stomach.

“What,” he starts, drawing a deep, steadying breath through his nose, “have you got behind your back?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. How about some juice? Or beer—I think I have beer, if you want—”

“—it’s three o’clock,” Kageyama says, “on a Thursday. I don’t want beer, I don’t want juice. I want to know why you’re—” he gestures vaguely to Hinata’s whole, squirming torso, “—doing  _that_. What, you got worms? Do you—did you  _catch_ something? Have you given me crabs because I swear to  _god—_ ”

Hinata balks, waving his hands in the space between them to shut Kageyama up.

“ _No_ , oh my god. I don’t—I don’t have worms, or  _crabs_ , or any other… _parasites_. I’ve just got  _this_ , and I’m super excited about it.”

 _This_ , as it turns out, is a rumpled piece of paper. Hinata holds it flat on his palm, flicking his eyes between it and Kageyama’s face. He hops a little on his toes, and pushes his hand right up under Kageyama’s nose.

“It’s a list!” He goes on. “I thought about it all after our first time, but there was just so much  _stuff_  I didn’t wanna forget, so last night, I finally wrote it all down!”

Kageyama blinks down at the wad of paper.

“A…list,” he says slowly. Hinata nods, frantic. “A list of what?”

“Things we can try! Like, you know, sex stuff.”

“I’m not doing any of your weird shit,” he says. “I’ve already  _told_  you, we’re not putting stuff in my dick,  _ever_ , and I’m not putting that… _hook_  thing inside of me, no matter how much you cry about it.”

Hinata waves him off.

“No, of course not,” he says. Kageyama blinks, surprised by the ease of his forfeit—there is usually a fairly lengthy battle before Hinata backs down about anything. “We haven’t even tried the regular toys yet, that stuff all comes later.”  _Ah_. “We’ll start easy, promise.”

Kageyama narrows his eyes.

“Start easy with…?”

Hinata grins at him, and unfolds the paper. He smooths it out, turns it so that Kageyama can see his messy scrawl over the page, and points to the very first line on a very long bullet-point list.

  * _Kageyama rides me_



Kageyama opens his mouth to give his firm, final-answer  _no_ , but Hinata cuts him off with a palm slapped over his open lips and a pair of wide, begging eyes.

“We’ll go  _really_  slow. I’ll prep you loads, I promise it won’t hurt, or be weird, or  _anything_.”

Kageyama nudges Hinata’s hand away.

“I’ve never—like, we haven’t— _done it_ , that…that way around before.”

Kageyama’s face burns with every word that fumbles past his lips. Hinata, for his part, seems thoroughly unfazed by the entire situation—he’s still giddy even at Kageyama’s immediate refusal, still squeezing tight to his list, still wriggling on the spot, curling his toes against the kitchen floor.

“I know,” he says. Kageyama breathes a silent thanks that Hinata didn’t make him explain further what he meant. “I know, but this is a  _super_  good position to start in. You’ll be on top! That means you have all the control, yeah? So, if it’s…if it’s not good, or it’s too fast or whatever, you can slow down, or stop.”

Kageyama gives Hinata a sceptical appraisal from head to toe. He’s so  _small_ —he is lean, muscled, but Kageyama is a good head taller than him, and broader, limbs thick from years of routine practiced and perfected exercise. Next to him, Hinata looks stringy, and impossibly brittle.

“I’ll snap you in half,” Kageyama says.

“Uh, okay, one: you’d better be talking about me like, _all_  of me, not my dick, because  _rude_ , and two: I’m not  _that_  much smaller than you,  _Bakageyama!”_

Objectively, he isn’t. Kageyama knows this; they’ve crunched the numbers in the past after one too many digs on Kageyama’s part, and broken down, the difference between them is nothing  _drastic_.

But looking down at him now, at his thin shoulders and his narrow hips, Kageyama feels monstrous in comparison.

“C’mon, ‘Yama,” Hinata whines, tugging at Kageyama’s sleeve. It’s petulant, but behind that, there is something  _needy_  to his tone, something a little too high and a little too breathy. “I’ve been thinking about this all night.  _All night_ , Kageyama.”

Kageyama swallows. Hinata is doing that  _thing_  he always does, slipping so effortlessly into that cam boy persona; his eyelids droop low, cheeks flush pink, and he bites at his lip, wetting the plump red skin until it shines. Kageyama squirms on the spot.

“All—” he starts, clears his throat, “all night?”

“Mhm,” Hinata hums. He steps right up into Kageyama’s space, so close and so sudden, Kageyama almost takes a step back from him. “Thinking about how good you’d look sitting on me, stretched out around me.”

Kageyama swallows.

“How good you’d  _feel_ —god, ‘Yama, you’ll be so—so tight,” he says. Each word comes pitched higher than the last, airy in the quiet. “I don’t—nobody wants to see me top in shows, you know? I haven’t—haven’t fucked anybody in so long.”

Kageyama has never much entertained the thought of Hinata being anything other than a bottom—he’s so  _needy_ , always so desperate for harder and faster, bigger and deeper and  _more_ , that Kageyama hasn’t really set aside much time to wonder what he might look like giving, rather than taking.

It’s…it’s a nicer mental picture that Kageyama would have thought. Hinata, hovering over him, hair falling about his face, teeth clamping over his bottom lip as he works. Kageyama can picture the strain of Hinata’s hips between his thighs, the clenching muscles of his ass against his calves, the roll of his back, sweat-slick skin catching beneath the scrape of Kageyama’s nails.

Or perhaps Hinata stretched out beneath him, fingers gripping at Kageyama’s waist, guiding the long, slow rocks of his hips. Hinata hissing his name— _“Yes, fuck, To-Tobio_ ,”—as Kageyama sinks all the way down on him, taking him to the hilt.

“Can we?” Hinata says, blowing away the picture in his head. Kageyama’s mouth is dry, too dry to voice his yes, and so instead, he nods.

“For real?”

Again, Kageyama nods.

“If—if I don’t like it,” Kageyama says, voice ripping hoarse from his throat, “we’re stopping, right?”

“No  _duh_.”

Hinata grabs Kageyama by the sleeve, and tugs him out of the kitchen. Instead of leading him straight to the bedroom—like he does on most other visits—he deposits Kageyama outside the bathroom door, and nudges at his shoulders.

“You gotta, you know,  _clean._ Back there.”

“Wha—I’m—I’m not  _dirty_ , dumbass! I showered this morning!”

Hinata swings his arms at his sides, and grins.

“Yeah, but now you gotta  _really_  clean. Just—don’t use any soap or anything up there—water is fine!”

Kageyama grits his teeth, willing the redness from his cheeks as Hinata keeps talking.

“Do you have to poop? You should do it bef—”

“— _no_ , oh my god. No. I don’t have to—I don’t need to do that. No.”

“Okay—but if you  _do_ —”

“I don’t.”

Hinata holds up his hands in surrender.

“Fine. There are towels in the cupboard. The shower isn’t…very good at staying one temperature, so sorry about that. Help yourself to like, anything you want. Take your time!”

And with that, and a giddy smile, he shoves Kageyama through the bathroom door, and pulls it closed behind him.

Kageyama stares about the place. It’s not the first time he’s been in here—over the last couple of months, he’s spent an unreasonable amount of time in Hinata’s flat, so much so that every room has been visited on multiple occasions—but today, the little box of a room seems daunting.

The shower, as it turns out, has no setting between arctic and surface-of-the-sun, and it refuses to stay on one or the other. As a result, Kageyama’s shower is a constant back and forth between boiling and frozen—but that isn’t even the most unpleasant part.

The worst part of the whole experience is working out how he’s supposed to wash himself.

It involves a lot of bending, and twisting, and the horribly unpleasant sensation of  _lava_  pouring down the crack of his ass, but Kageyama gives it his best shot nonetheless. Afterwards, he washes the rest of himself with some flowery gel that explodes into entirely too much foam the moment the water hits it, and then he washes the cubicle itself to clear away the excess suds, and then he stands under the fluctuating spray for one, two, five, maybe  _ten_  minutes, thinking about what it is they are about to do.

Kageyama isn’t  _completely_  new to the idea. He has touched himself before—just a finger, in the dark and the quiet of his own bedroom—and it did feel good, but one finger is an awful lot smaller than Hinata’s  _entire_  dick.

Kageyama takes a deep breath, sucking in warm steam from the shower, and lets his eyes drop closed.

The prospect is as exhilarating as it is frightening. Once he gets out of the shower and into the bedroom, they’ll begin. Hinata will work him open with thin, practiced fingers, stretch him out, get him all soft and wet and ready for more. He’ll coo his praises, just like he always does—“ _you’re doing so good, ‘Yama, gonna feel so good around me,_ ”—and then, when he’s ready, Hinata will settle back on the pillows, cock stiff and swollen, leaking with his need.

Kageyama slips a finger between his cheeks. The feel of the pad smoothing over his hole, and the picture in his head, Hinata’s sultry tone echoing between his ears— “ _you’re so ready, Tobio—so ready to take me in_ ”—is enough to make his knees tremble. With one hand, he braces himself against the cool tiled wall of the cubicle.

In his head, he is straddling over Hinata’s thighs. Hinata’s fingers trail soft patterns up the outsides of Kageyama’s legs, so light the touch tickles, and between his cheeks, Hinata’s cock presses up, weeping against Kageyama’s slick entrance.

Kageyama presses the tip of his finger into himself, and as he does, the Kageyama in his head sinks down Hinata’s shaft, taking him all the way in.

Kageyama hisses, and pushes in a little deeper. He’s never made it past the second knuckle before, and now is no different—Kageyama presses, but the muscles don’t give.

His fantasy implodes. Kageyama pulls his finger out and drops his forehead to the tile, letting the scalding shower water pound over his back.

Hinata wants to try this, and  _Kageyama_  wants to try this—more so than he’d ever thought he’d want to—but he can’t see how it’s going to  _work_  if he can’t even get one of his own fingers all the way in.

With a frustrated groan, Kageyama shuts off the shower water and steps out, scooping up his towel and drying himself off.

In the bedroom, Hinata is waiting for him, kneeling on the mattress with an array of items strewn about his legs. There is lube, and condoms, a towel spread over the sheets, and—

“I thought you said we’re starting  _easy_.”

Kageyama eyes the three toys lined up with growing unease. Each one is a little bigger than the last, sitting side by side, innocent and unassuming. Hinata looks at them, and then waves a hand.

“They’re just if we need ‘em!” He chirps. “Like, in case it’s too big a jump to go from my fingers to my dick, you know?”

Kageyama swallows, coughing a little. From the bedside table Hinata pulls a water bottle, and he holds it out for Kageyama to take, grinning.

“I brought this, too, so we don’t have to stop if you start choking.”

Kageyama walks to the bed and snatches the bottle away.

“That’s happened  _twice_ ,” Kageyama says. He sips the cool liquid, and then sips some more, side-eyeing Hinata and the bed.

“How was your shower?”

“Hot,” Kageyama says. “And cold. You need to fix it.”

Hinata scratches at the back of his head and gives a small, sheepish grin.

“Yeah,” he says, “I’ve been meaning to, honest. But! That’s not what I meant. I meant, like, did you get—you know, all cleaned up okay?”

Kageyama’s face warms. He nods, finally putting down his bottle.

“Fine,” he says, “I think.”

“Good! Now,” Hinata pats the mattress, craning his neck towards Kageyama and grinning wider, “get comfy, volley, and show me your butt.”

Kageyama shoves Hinata’s face away. He is still wrapped in his towel from the shower, and without it, he will be bare, while Hinata sits fully clothed on the bed, covered in sweats and a t-shirt.

“C’mon, ‘Yama,” Hinata says. His voice comes muffled by the press of Kageyama’s palm. “We don’t have all day.”

“We literally do have all day,” he says, “you’re not showing tonight, right?”

Hinata huffs, and shakes his head.

“Nope!” He says. “And everyone hates you for that, I hope you know.”

Kageyama shrugs a shoulder. It doesn’t bother  _him_  that Hinata only performs every other day now, because it is these days in between that Kageyama gets to spend with him, and it is so much better than watching him through a screen.

“You’re not showing,” Kageyama repeats, “and I don’t have practice. I’m staying the night—what part of that doesn’t sound like  _all day_  to you?”

“It’s an  _expression_ ,” Hinata whines, toppling forwards on the bed and burying his face in the sheets. “You’re the worst, ‘Yamayama.”

He huffs, and then turns his face to the side, cheek pressed to the bedding. Kageyama’s mind flashes another image, of Hinata just like this, only naked, and flushed, sweating, panting, fingering himself open and begging for Kageyama to touch him.

Kageyama blinks, and Hinata rolls to sit up once more.

“Towel off,” he says. Kageyama narrows his eyes.

“Don’t look.”

“Wha—I’m—you’re gonna be naked  _anyway_. Just get on the  _bed_.”

Blushing, and with his eyes flitting to anywhere but Hinata, Kageyama drops his towel to the floor and climbs up onto the mattress.

“How—” he starts, “how should I—how do you want me?”

Hinata looks him over. There is something hungry in the burn of his eyes as they travel from Kageyama’s face to his chest, over his waist, lingering on the space between his legs for long enough to make Kageyama’s cheeks hot.

“Up to you,” Hinata says. He picks up the lube and wiggles it between his fingers. “Hands and knees, maybe? Or on your side and, like, pull your knees up to your chest—that’s how they do it if you gotta get a finger up your butt at the doctors.”

“Maybe save the medical method for another time,” Kageyama says. “Can’t I just—lie on my back?”

Hinata shrugs at him.

“However you want,” he says. “Just whatever’s comfy, you know? And like, if you wanna change halfway through or whatever just say.”

Kageyama shuffles around until he lies on his back, head cushioned in amongst Hinata’s pillows, with his hips resting over the towel on the bed. Hinata beams at him, and nudges his knees until he draws them up, planting his feet on the mattress. In the time Kageyama has taken to get settled, Hinata has stripped himself of his shirt, so the bare skin of his shoulders rubs at Kageyama’s knees as he sits between them, and pushes them a little further apart.

“How’s that?” He asks. Kageyama grits his teeth, shrugging.

“It’s fine.” It’s not fine. It’s  _exposed_ , spreading his legs like this, and with Hinata sitting where he is, he can see— _everything_. Kageyama squirms. “What’s the towel for?”

“So we don’t make too much mess,” Hinata says. “We’re gonna use way more lube than usual.”

He can’t bring himself to look down at Hinata. Instead, he stares at the ceiling, one arm thrown up across his forehead and the other planted over his chest. He curls his toes into the towel, and for a long while, nothing else happens. Kageyama breathes, and squirms, and Hinata does—whatever it is he’s doing between Kageyama’s thighs.

And then, without warning, something warm and  _slick_ slides between his cheeks. Kageyama jumps, and Hinata soothes him with a palm pressed flat, low on his stomach.

“Easy,” he says, gliding over him. “You’re super tense, ‘Yama.”

“You would be too, if someone was about to stick something up your ass for the first time.”

Hinata’s fingers rub gently at the skin of his abdomen. Kageyama breathes, lulled between the smooth slide of Hinata’s finger over his hole and the tickle of the hand on his stomach.

“If you really don’t wanna do it,” Hinata says, “we can stop. I don’t wanna make you do it just because  _I_ want to.”

Kageyama chances his first look up, then. Hinata’s cheeks are pink, his eyes so blown they look almost black, from here, and his breathing is already a little heavy in his eagerness—but he is earnest, looking down at Kageyama. He wants this—he’s desperate for it, has thought of nothing else since last night—but he will stop, right now or at any point, if Kageyama wants him to.

“It’s fine,” Kageyama says. “Keep going. I’m fine.”

“ _Fine_ isn’t the same as wanting it, stupid,” Hinata says softly. The finger at his hole has stilled, nudged up against him. Kageyama pushes his hips down towards it.

“I want it,” he says. The smallest groan slithers past Hinata’s lips.

“You sure?” He presses his finger a little harder. Kageyama hums, and nods his head.

It’s all the confirmation Hinata needs.

With the softest pressure, the tip of Hinata’s finger slips past his rim. Kageyama sucks in a breath, hips jumping with the touch.

“ _Easy_ ,” Hinata says again. Kageyama holds his breath as Hinata probes a little deeper, and then—as predicted—meets resistance. Hinata pokes at him, so much Kageyama winces, and then he withdraws, and eases back in slowly.

“Push out,” Hinata says. “You know, like you’re tryna force out a—”

“—I get it,” Kageyama says. He does as told, and after a couple of little thrusts and wiggles, Hinata’s finger sinks all the way in him.

“ _Hah!”_

“Okay?” Hinata asks. He leans forward, brushing his lips over the inside of Kageyama’s knee. Kageyama nods. It’s…it is okay, but it’s  _just_  okay. There’s nothing miraculous about it, no thigh-trembling pleasure to the press of Hinata’s finger inside of him, but it’s not  _bad_ either.

“I’m gonna do another.”

Kageyama closes his eyes as the second finger goes in. There is a burn to the stretch of this one, pushing Kageyama a little beyond the limits of what he’s done before, what he’s comfortable with, but with every hiss he breathes, Hinata soothes him.

“You’re doing so good,” Hinata praises softly. Kageyama’s breath judders in his lungs and his hips twitch. He always likes it, probably more than he  _should_ , when Hinata congratulates him for every job well done. “Can’t wait to be inside you.”

“Fuck,” Kageyama breathes, and then, “ _f-fuck!”_  When Hinata’s fingers press against something inside him that sends molten pleasure whizzing up his spine. Kageyama arcs his back, and rolls his hips down.

“There it is,” Hinata says, grinning. “You’ve never played with your prostate before?”

Kageyama gasps, shaking his head. He  _thought_ he had, was under the impression the tiny jolts of pleasure he’s felt in the past were due to the little nerve bundle, but now—now he’s not so sure. Because he’s never felt anything like  _that_  in all his life.

Hinata rubs up against him again. Against his stomach, his half-hard cock stirs, blood pumping it to life with every probe of Hinata’s fingers. He leaks at every touch, until soon enough, he is red and swollen, and there is a small, sticky pool growing over his abdomen.

By the time Hinata gets three fingers inside of him, Kageyama is  _writhing._ This is more like what he’d pictured—this blinding, dizzying pleasure building up within him, twisting him over the mattress, making him mindless with the pressing need for more.

“That’s it,” Hinata says, quirking all three fingers up so sharply, Kageyama’s pelvis climbs up off the bed. Hinata holds him there, curling his fingers inside of him, and Kageyama scrambles his feet against the mattress, fingers clawing into the pillows by his head, breath heaving in his lungs.

“ _Haah—ah—oh_ , fuck, Hi-Hinata—”

“So good,” Hinata says. Kageyama unscrews his eyes enough to peer up, and the sight he’s met with is almost enough to undo him.

Hinata has the fingers of one hand buried in Kageyama’s entrance, and his gaze keeps shifting between that—between watching Kageyama’s hole swallow him down—and Kageyama’s face, like he can’t decide which one he’d rather stare at. His eyes are hooded, and his mouth is open, panting along with Kageyama, lips rosy and shining where his tongue pokes out to wet them.

And his other hand—his other hand has pulled his cock up out of his sweats to wrap around it, tugging at his length, spreading pre-cum over the head with an easy roll of his palm. Kageyama watches Hinata’s dick disappear into his curled fist once, twice, feels the steady thrust of Hinata’s fingers inside him, and somewhere in the back of his head, the two motions become one.

Hinata, buried inside of him, dragging long, slow thrusts that pound into his prostate, milking his aching cock.

“ _St—ooh—ha—_ H-Hinata—Hina—stop.”

Abruptly, Hinata stills. Kageyama lets his hips relax onto the mattress, and slowly, Hinata withdraws his fingers from him.

“You okay?” Hinata asks. Kageyama nods, his head wobbling against the pillows.

“Too much,” he breathes, “was gonna—I would've—”

“You could’ve come if you wanted,  _Bakageyama_ ,” Hinata says. He stretches up on his knees, crawling over Kageyama’s hips. He settles, sitting on Kageyama’s abdomen, with his hands either side of Kageyama’s head and his face craned down to kiss him.

As good as Hinata is with heavy, dirty kisses, he’s a master of the softer ones, too. Kageyama melts under the slow breeze of breath billowing out over his cheeks, opens his lips to allow for the long, languid sweeps of Hinata’s tongue between his teeth. Hinata shifts to lie over him. He’s sweat-sticky, and he must know there will be a stain on his sweats where he sits in the mess Kageyama has leaked over himself, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

He is warm, and gentle, and Kageyama’s chest squeezes with some horrible, overwhelming kind of affection.

“If it’s too much,” Hinata says against Kageyama’s lips, “we can save the rest for another time. I don’t mind.”

“I want to,” Kageyama says. Hinata pulls back, sitting up to look at him. “I—I want to. I—you want it, right?”

Hinata nods his head. Kageyama steels himself, grits his teeth.

“So do I.”

Slowly, a big, beaming smile spreads itself over Hinata’s face.

“ _Uwaaaaah_ , for real?” He says, a little breathily. Kageyama nods, and Hinata throws himself against him, arms wrapping under his neck, peppering kisses all over his face.

“It’s gonna feel so good, promise,” he says. “And you're— _God_ , ‘Yama, you’re gonna look  _incredible_.”

Kageyama sits himself up. Hinata sits with it, sinking down his stomach to sit in his lap. He knocks their foreheads together, and nudges the tip of his nose against Kageyama’s.

Hinata opens his mouth and catches his breath, like he’s about to say something, but he must think better of it because he shakes his head, and clambers off of Kageyama’s thighs, shucking his sweats all the way off.

“You’re gonna—gonna be so tight,” Hinata says, “I can’t stop thinking about it—about—about how you’re gonna feel around me.”

All the while, Hinata is arranging the pillows into a little mountain against the wall, so that when he sits back, they form a plush throne around him. He palms over himself, and tips his head back, rolling it over the wall.

“Pass—can you pass me a condom?”

Kageyama nods, fishing up one of the little foil squares and handing it to Hinata.

He rolls it on with much more ease than Kageyama ever has. Even with his trembling fingers, it goes on smoothly, and once he is done, he swings out a foot, kicking the toys they never used and the spare condoms to the floor, until the bed is occupied by only himself, Kageyama, and the little tube of lube by his knees. He tugs the rumpled towel out from under them, too, and tosses it to the floor. Already, Kageyama can see a damp patch spread over the bedding where the excess fluid has soaked through.

Hinata picks up the tube, and spreads some over his cock. Kageyama watches him work himself with a growing sense of excitement, and a little unease.

This is really going to happen. In moments, he’s going to climb up into Hinata’s lap, settle his wet, open hole against the head of Hinata’s cock, and sink down until he’s swallowed the whole thing up.

“Shit, Kageyama,” Hinata breathes. He reaches for Kageyama’s wrist, wrapping his fingers around it and tugging him forward. Kageyama crawls over on shaking legs. “Get—get over me.”

It’s awkward, manoeuvring to straddle Hinata’s lap, and with every shift of his knees the bedsprings scream. Hinata helps him shuffle into place with a hand at his waist, until finally, he stills him, and looks up at his face.

“Use me to balance,” Hinata says. Kageyama does as told, bracing a hand on Hinata’s shoulder. The other arm hovers, useless, in the air at his side. Kageyama has no idea what he’s supposed to  _do_. “Sit down a little.”

Again, Kageyama does as instructed. He lowers his hips slowly, until he feels it—Hinata’s cock, pressed up against him. Kageyama draws a shuddering breath.

Hinata must feel his hesitancy, because the fingers at Kageyama’s waist squeeze gently, thumb rubbing against his trembling stomach.

“No rush,” he says quietly. Kageyama nods, squeezing at Hinata’s shoulder in return. With his other hand Kageyama reaches between them to hold Hinata’s cock steady, but Hinata’s hand is already there, gripping himself.

“I got it,” Hinata says. “You just—just do your part, okay?”

Kageyama’s part, as it turns out, is an awful lot harder than anticipated. It’s hard to balance, harder still to balance while lowering himself down Hinata’s length. Still, Kageyama works slowly, sinking a little at a time with Hinata’s hands to help him, until finally,  _finally,_  he stills, thighs trembling, breath heaving out of him, sitting on Hinata’s lap with his cock pressed in him to the hilt.

“ _F-fuck_.”

Kageyama’s voice sounds foreign to his own ears. He’s never heard himself so  _whiny_  before—the words come high, and keening, and in response Hinata gives a low, guttural groan, hips jerking up off the mattress.

“ _Ah—hah-ha_ —Sh—Shouyou,” Kageyama croons. Hinata moans, and sits forward abruptly, craning his neck to kiss at the underside of Kageyama’s jaw. Kageyama’s toes curl, and he draws a shaking hand to the back of Hinata’s head, tangling up into his head.

“You did it,” Hinata says, laughing breathlessly. “Congrats! You’re no longer an ass-virgin.”

Kageyama tugs his hair.

“Why’d you have— _hah_ —have to ruin the moment?”

Hinata rolls his hips up, and Kageyama twitches violently, steadying himself on Hinata’s shoulders.

“Can you move?” Hinata asks. His voice is tight, strained. For a while, Kageyama says nothing, just breathes around the pressure filling him.

“I don’t—” Kageyama says, huffing, back bowing with an involuntary jerk of Hinata’s hips beneath him, “I don’t know—what—how am I supposed to…?”

“Grind on me,” Hinata says, immediately. “Just…just rock— _oh_ , like—like that—do that again.”

Kageyama swallows, mouth dry, and rocks himself first forward, and then back. Hinata’s cock slides against his prostate and he shivers, thighs trembling where they bear his weight. Hinata shudders, fingernails biting into Kageyama’s hips, and knocks his head to the wall.

“Just like that,” he breathes. “Just— _oh_ —’Yama, you feel— _hah!_ ”

Kageyama rolls his hips in another long, drawn circle, and Hinata croons, back curling up off his pillow throne. He is panting, a sheen of sweat glistening over his brow, and the skin of his chest flushes bright pink, drowning out every freckle. He works his jaw, but for a while no words come, just a string of the softest, most desperate noises Kageyama has ever heard.

“You’re— _aah—ha_ —you’re doing—doing so good,” he pants.

Kageyama is _burning_. His insides feel hot and full, stretched where Hinata’s cock impales him. Hinata’s length is big enough, compared to the rest of him, and most definitely big enough for Kageyama. He feels impossibly full, and impossibly  _good_.

“Hina—” he says, breathless, “I’m—I feel— _fuck, oh_ —”

He isn’t sure what he feels. It’s different, than what he’s used to—all the pleasure and the pressure is building in different places, balling up somewhere much deeper inside of him than he’s used to. It isn’t painful, but it’s overwhelming, so much so that Kageyama squirms where he sits, pressing Hinata’s cock impossibly deeper inside of him.

He grunts, panting. With every roll of his hips and every press of Hinata’s shaft to his prostate, Kageyama’s spills more pre-cum from his twitching length. The pressure within him mounts, building to a near ache. The muscles of his thighs tremble with the effort it takes to hold him, and to  _move_ , and all the while Hinata is crowing encouragements, fighting to keep his eyes on Kageyama’s face.

“I think— _haah—ha—aah_ , sh-shit, Hina—I’m—”

Hinata sits forward once more, wrapping his arms around Kageyama’s back. The little blunt tips of his nails scratch over Kageyama’s skin, and the warmth of his breath billows over his collar, where Hinata rests his lips.

“You gonna come?” He asks shakily. Kageyama curls one arm over Hinata’s shoulders, and stretches the other out to plant a palm on the wall to keep steady.

“I don’t—it feels  _weird_.”

Hinata smiles against him, opening his lips and sucking a warm, wet kiss into Kageyama’s collar. Kageyama trembles, arching into him.

“Good _—shit—_ good weird?” Hinata asks.

“I— _hng—hah_ —It’s—it’s a lot,” Kageyama gasps, rocking himself a little harder. Hinata moans, long and  _loud_ , and bites down into Kageyama’s shoulder. The graze of his teeth stings in a way that jumps Kageyama’s pelvis, has him grinding down further into Hinata’s lap.

“It’s okay, you’re—it’s gonna feel dif-different,” he says, “than what you’re used to. It’s gonna feel…more.”

Kageyama doesn’t know how much  _more_  he can take. He knocks his jaw to the side of Hinata’s head and, open-mouthed, pants in earnest, shuddering little barely-there breaths in between each exhale. Hinata fumbles for the arm around his shoulders, dragging it down—it flops, lifeless; Kageyama doesn’t think he has the strength to lift it—and knots their fingers together.

“So good,” Hinata whispers, squeezing Kageyama’s hand. Kageyama squeezes back, levering himself on aching thighs to rock over Hinata once more. “You’re doing so—so good.”

Hinata cranes his neck all the way up, head tilted, until his nose tickles along Kageyama’s jaw.

“Are you close?” He asks. The building pressure spreads steadily wider, taking over Kageyama’s pelvis, his thighs, creeping out over his back and up into his stomach. Between them, his cock is leaking steadily, sticky fluid drenching both his skin and Hinata’s.

“I think— _aah_ —I think so.”

“Come on me,” Hinata breathes, clenching Kageyama’s hand tight in his own. He reaches between them, wrapping a fist loose around Kageyama’s red, swollen shaft. “Come on—please, Kageyama—come on my cock.”

Kageyama jerks at the touch. He feels too sensitive, drawn too tight, but every stroke is impossibly better than the last, and with each drawn tug of Hinata’s fist, the pressure in him balls tighter.

“Gonna—I can’t—” Kageyama tilts his face into Hinata’s hair, squeezing his eyes shut tight. His hips roll jerkily, torn between grinding down or rocking up. He presses his mouth and nose hard against the top of Hinata’s head. “Gonna come,” he breathes, trembling.

“ _Yes_ ,” Hinata hisses, stroking him faster. “Want—wanna feel you come around me. Please— _please_ , Tobio.”

Hinata thumbs at his head, and at the same time, his hips rut up, cock wedging against Kageyama’s prostate, and the pressure within him  _bursts._

Kageyama has never felt an orgasm roll throughout so much of his body. It hits him in waves, stealing the muscles in his arms and his legs until they spasm. He spills in between their bodies, his hole clenching, and all of it happens somewhere distant, somewhere Kageyama can’t see for the light flickering behind his closed lids.

When he next becomes aware, after what feels like hours but can only be seconds, he is on his back, and Hinata is braced over him, head hung low enough for his sweaty brow to rest on Kageyama’s sweaty chest, his hips jump in little, unsteady jerks against Kageyama’s.

He’s still buried in him, so deep it’s almost hard to breathe for it. After a shaky moment, Hinata stills, collapsing down on top of him.

“S-sorry,” he pants into Kageyama’s skin. “I  _really_  wanted to come in you.”

Kageyama doesn’t speak. He can’t bring himself to—instead, he works to catch his breath. The inside of his mouth feels like sandpaper, tough and dry, lips and tongue and teeth tacking together. He barely feels Hinata slip out of him. The mattress gives a few creaky groans as Hinata sorts himself out.

After a moment, Hinata looms over him, grinning, and pokes a finger against his cheek. Kageyama feels his head wobble loosely on his neck.

“‘Yamayama,” Hinata says, poking at him again. “You still alive?”

Kageyama swallows nothing, and nods.

“Think so,” he says. He sits up shakily, Hinata sitting back to give him space.

“How was it?” He asks, bouncing on his knees. “Good, huh? It’s  _super_  hard on your legs being on top, but I figured you’re, like,  _used_  to doing a lot of exercise and stuff. Do your thighs hurt? Does your butt—”

“—nothing  _hurts_ ,” Kageyama says, smacking a palm over Hinata’s mouth. For a moment Hinata just stares at him, and then his eyes rove down, crossing to try and see Kageyama’s hand against his face.

Something warm, wet, and  _slimy_  slips across Kageyama’s palm.

“ _Gross_ ,” he says, pulling his hand away abruptly. He wipes it on the rumpled up towel, scowling at Hinata’s broad, grinning face. He scrambles closer, clambers to sit in Kageyama’s lap, and smacks a quick, sharp kiss to his lips.

“You had fun, right?”

Up this close, Kageyama can see each and every little freckle dotting Hinata’s cheeks and nose. His eyes are big, bright and sparkling, and every part of him is comfortably warm where he touches Kageyama’s bare skin. Kageyama rests a palm at the bottom of his back, and tugs him in a little closer.

“I had fun,” he agrees. Hinata smiles wider still, jostling a little in his lap.

“So you’d do it again?” He asks. “Like, let me do you, I mean?”

“I thought you liked it the other way around,” Kageyama says. He drags his hand a little lower, palms over one of Hinata’s cheeks, and teases the tips of his fingers between them. Hinata’s eyes droop shut and he bites his lip, pushing his hips back a little into the touch. “Me doing  _you_.”

“Mmm I do,” Hinata hums. “But it’s fun sometimes, to change things up.”

“I suppose,” Kageyama says. “I liked it. It was…more than I expected.”

Hinata hums again. He has fallen a little slack in Kageyama’s arms, head resting on his shoulder while Kageyama strokes over him. Kageyama stops abruptly, and shoves gently at his shoulder.

“Don’t get comfy,” he says. “I need to go—”

“—clean up,” Hinata groans, “I know, I know. You’re like…not gonna get a UTI up your butt though.”

“I’m  _sticky_ ,” Kageyama says, nudging Hinata off of him. He squirms against the bedding, feeling the slick between his thighs.

“You gonna shower again?” Hinata asks, perking up. Kageyama narrows his eyes.

“You’re not coming with me,” he says. Hinata balks.

“It’s  _my_  shower!”

“And I’m the guest,” Kageyama says. He stands, stretching. Now that he’s upright, he can feel the ache starting to settle in his hips and his thighs. Hinata stands, too, and presses up against the back of him.

“It doesn’t have to be a sexy shower,” Hinata says. Kageyama rolls his eyes.

“Are you capable of being naked with me and  _not_  making it sexy?”

Hinata presses his brow between Kageyama’s shoulder blades, and circles his arms around him. Kageyama struggles not to sink into the softness of the touch.

“It can be a nice shower,” Hinata mumbles against his back. “No sex.”

“A nice shower,” Kageyama repeats. Hinata’s fingers are dancing little patterns where they rest on his chest, tickling so lightly, Kageyama’s eyes drift shut with it. “Not possible.”

Hinata squawks his indignation, fingers nipping for available skin to pinch. Kageyama grabs his wrists to still him, and Hinata, sighing his defeat, wedges in closer and flattens his palms over Kageyama’s chest. Kageyama is sure he can feel the fast, heavy beat of his heart, but if he can, Hinata doesn’t mention it.

He mumbles something into Kageyama’s back, then, too muffled and too quiet for him to hear.

“Speak up, dumbass,” Kageyama says. Hinata squeezes him tighter.

“I wanna shower with you,” he says. “We haven’t…done that yet. It sounds nice.”

Kageyama blinks down at the places Hinata’s hands rest on him.

“No sex,” he says, “you just…want to shower. With me.”

Hinata nods. He gives Kageyama one last squeeze around the middle, then steps away, circling around in front of him, hands clasped behind his back, tip-toeing his way towards the bedroom door.

“And if we  _can’t_  shower together,” Hinata says, taking another step away. “I guess I’ll just…have to shower first!”

And with that he turns, throwing open the bedroom door and sprinting down the hall. Kageyama blinks at the space Hinata vacated, and then, with a smile bubbling over his face and something unbearably warm swelling in his chest, Kageyama takes off, too, catching the bathroom door just as Hinata does, tumbling in along with him, slamming the door closed in their wake with the first high rings of Hinata’s laughter echoing about the room. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyyyy I know a lot of people don't like bottom!Kageyama, but I for one love it, and if you didn't know by now, 99% of my fics are gratuitous garbage, so here you go anyway!! come talk to me on tumblr @ someone-stole-my-shoes if you wanna talk more about this AU, or about kagehina in general! As always, thank you for any comments/kudos/bookmarks etc, I love you guys <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I have an idea.”
> 
> This one simple phrase, Kageyama has learned, has a fifty-fifty chance of boding well for him. Hinata does, on occasion, have very, very good ideas, but sometimes he decides they should use bubble bath as lube because “it’s just oil, Kageyama, what could go wrong?” and that is just one of the many, many terrible ones that have, over the months, made Hinata and his ideas a little difficult to trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been sitting on this for a while now, trying to find a good time to post it, and I finally settled on today, because it is a very special occasion - [RC's](http://reallycorking.tumblr.com/) birthday!! I hope you have a wonderful day, and get to do some excellent celebrating how ever you see fit, and I hope this brings you a little joy! Thank you for being such a wonderful friend, and an amazing part of my life <3

“I have an idea.”

This one simple phrase, Kageyama has learned, has a fifty-fifty chance of boding well for him. Hinata does, on occasion, have very, very _good_ ideas, but sometimes he decides they should use bubble bath as lube because “it’s just _oil_ , Kageyama, what could go wrong?” and that is just one of the many, many terrible ones that have, over the months, made Hinata and his _ideas_ a little difficult to trust.

Kageyama weighs the pros and cons of responding to Hinata’s sudden statement silently, flicking the page in his magazine. It’s an overly enthusiastic winter sports coverage, emblazoned in too many bright, bold slogans and logos, and on the fifteenth page, it has a picture of Kageyama, looking stoic and uninterested as ever, representing the university volleyball team. He looks wildly out of place, compared to the text around him, all capitalized and exclamation pointed; mundane, and unwelcome.

Most times, Kageyama thoroughly ignores sports issues in which he is a part, but this one—this one, Hinata insisted he get (“you get a discount, _Bakageyama_ , and I—want to...borrow it. For a while.”).

The magazine arrived this morning. Kageyama only has it in hand right now because for once, they are in _his_ flat and not Hinata’s, tangled together on the bed with the winter sun setting early in the sky beyond the windows—and they are here because Kageyama has _homework_. They are here so that he can do the final sketches in his next workbook of the year, one of many he has filled since his studies began. They are _not_ here to read magazines, or to _cuddle_ , or to—to do whatever it is Hinata is planning on doing next.

And yet.

 _"I have an idea_." 

Beside him, Hinata stretches languidly over the bed, humming as he does. The hem of his top ( _Kageyama’s_ top) rides way up his thighs, exposing inches of smooth, pale skin. He looks cute, draped in nothing but Kageyama’s too-big clothing; cute, and devastatingly _good_.

Kageyama averts his gaze back to his magazine.

“Do you now,” Kageyama says, after a stunted silence. Hinata rolls himself up, over Kageyama’s torso, until his face is so close behind the magazine, Kageyama can see the pages shift and billow with his breaths.

“Yup,” Hinata says, popping his lips.

“You gonna tell me what it is?”

Hinata hums again. He wriggles against Kageyama’s stomach, but Kageyama grits his teeth, and steadfastly ignores him. He knows exactly when and where this conversation will end, should he dare chance a second glance.

“You not gonna guess? Not at all?”

“If this is about the butt claw, the answer is still no.”

“It’s not a—it's a  _hook_ , and we’ll work on it,” Hinata says. “But no, that’s not it.”

“Then tell me, or we do nothing,” Kageyama says. Abruptly, Hinata smacks the magazine down flat on Kageyama’s chest, and in its place plants his own face, staring poutily up at Kageyama.

“You’re not fun like, at all, you know that?”

“So you’ve said,” Kageyama says. Without the magazine to shield his view, he can see entirely too much of Hinata, from his wide eyes and plump lips to his long, lithe body, ass curving tantalizingly beneath Kageyama’s shirt. His fingers twitch, itching to touch.

“You’re supposed to _guess_ ,” Hinata says again. “Like, make an effort. At least _pretend_ to be interested. Here, I’ll give you a hint: it benefits you, too.”

“That's...the worst hint. How the hell am I supposed to work out what’s cooking in your stupid head?” Kageyama asks, flicking Hinata right between the eyes. He rumples up his face (cute) and wrinkles his nose ( _cute_ ), then pokes out his tongue, and turns his cheek to Kageyama’s chest, sighing his lament.

“Humour me,” he says.

“No.”

“It’s still the holidays, Kageyama. You’re supposed to be _nice_!”

“When am I ever not nice?”

Hinata tilts his head up, eyes narrowed.

“Is that a joke?” He asks.

 _Obviously_ , Kageyama thinks, because he is not nice on an awful lot of occasions, but before he can reply, Hinata is shaking his head, waving him off.

“You’re nice like, once a week, tops—and it’s _Monday_ , so how about you just fill your quota early, and play along?”

“First, rude,” Kageyama says, digging his fingers into Hinata’s hair and tugging until he yelps. “Second, maybe I want to save my one good deed for something important.”

Hinata pulls a face, then, all drop-jawed and faux-distraught (and maybe a little bit _real_ distraught, too).

“Are you saying I’m not _important?"_

Kageyama shrugs a shoulder.

“You never know what might pop up,” he says. “So how about you—” he pokes the end of Hinata’s upturned nose, “—just tell me whatever dumb thing is going through your head, before I stop _humouring_ you all together.”

Hinata grabs at Kageyama’s poking, prodding fingers, catching them from the air and bending them threateningly far back.

“It's not _dumb_ , but fine,” he huffs. “ _Fine_. I want you...to…”

He stops, and squirms against Kageyama’s chest. It’s _thoroughly_ distracting.

“Spit it out,” Kageyama grits.

Hinata mutters something that Kageyama doesn’t catch. Kageyama cranes his neck to lean closer.

“Huh? I can’t—stop _mumbling_ , I can’t hear you.”

“I want you to draw me.”

Oh.

Of all the things Kageyama had expected to hear, this was absolutely _not_ one of them. He shuffles, ringing his hand loosely into the bed sheets. Kageyama is a volleyball player second, and an art student first; this, he knows, but it’s not a fact anybody else ever seems to remember, which he supposes is fairly understandable, given that he eats, sleeps, lives, and _breathes_ volleyball.

Hinata, it seems, is an exception.

It’s..not that he doesn’t _want_ to. In reality, it’s something he’s thought about an awful lot, since they’ve been together, and even before, when Hinata was nothing but a face on his screen and a very, very distant dream. The problem is, he isn’t sure that he _can_.

“I’ve seen your art,” Hinata says, kicking his heels. “You’re like, _awesome_ , and—and remember? When we first talked? And I said—I said I wanted you to show me your drawing, some day?  And! It’ll help you finish your sketchbook, right?”

Kageyama grumbles. He does remember, like it was yesterday; Hinata’s wide, blown eyes staring at him through his camera, cheeks pink and mouth open, and a nasty swell of panic in his gut, like this was a mistake, like he wasn’t good enough.

“You just said, you’ve already seen it.”

Hinata smacks weakly at his chest.

“I _mean_ , I wanna see you _draw._  Like, watch you, while you’re doing it.”

“Why?”

Hinata shrugs him off.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says. “Just—it’ll be fun, right? I can pose...all sexy...and you can draw...all _sexy_ …”

“There’s nothing _sexy_ about drawing,” Kageyama says. Hinata scoffs.

“I think you’re...probably, definitely wrong,” he says. “But! I’ll never know, unless you draw me now.”

“Nope,” Kageyama says, shaking his head. He is not— _not_ —falling for this, not letting Hinata _trick_ him into one of his ideas. He can be as nice and as coy as he likes. “No way. Not happening. Stop—don’t look at me like that, the answer is _no_.”

* * *

Unfortunately for Kageyama, he has never had all that much willpower where Hinata is concerned. An embarrassingly little amount of very _hard_ , very thorough begging later, Kageyama finds himself red-faced, sitting with his legs crossed in his desk chair, sketchpad in his lap, while Hinata smugly rearranges himself on the mattress. The magazine lies abandoned on the floor, a little creased and a little rumpled, and decidedly more sticky than it was before.

“How do you want me?” Hinata asks, throwing a cheeky grin over his shoulder. Kageyama’s face burns hot, and he scowls, dusting nonexistent specks from his paper.

“Dead, in a ditch,” Kageyama says, and then, because that was perhaps a little _too_ harsh, “just...however you want. Something _comfortable_ ,” he adds, when Hinata makes to contort himself obscenely against the pillows, “you’re gonna be there a while.”

“ _Waaah_ , really? How long’s it gonna take?”

Kageyama shrugs. Truly, he doesn’t know; it entirely depends on how many times he has to start over, how much detail he adds, how complex Hinata’s positioning is—how difficult it is to concentrate, with a very naked Hinata splayed out before him, ready and waiting.

“An hour, maybe less.”

Hinata balks.

“An _hour_?”

Kageyama shrugs at him.

“Maybe more, depends.”

“On _what_?” Hinata says, exasperated, “how many snack breaks you take?”

“How well you can keep your ass still and your mouth shut,” Kageyama rebutts. Hinata looks suitably chastised, but that doesn’t stop him giving his hips a sultry little wiggle before he settles.

“Okay, think I’m good.”

Kageyama peers over his sketchpad.

He is good. He is so, _impossibly_ good—stretched languidly over the soft sheets, hair fanned across the pillows, soft, supple skin aglow beneath the warmth of the low winter sunlight. It’s unfair, just how attractive he is, and how disarming Kageyama finds him.

He looks back down at the blank page. There is no way in the world Kageyama can capture all of this, all of Hinata’s raw beauty in graphite streaks and smudges. It’s a challenge he can’t possibly meet, but Hinata is looking at him so expectantly, relaxed and at ease and trusting, blindly faithful that Kageyama can take the shape of him and translate it into something equally stunning, that he has to choice but to rise to it as best he can.

Still, the prospect is daunting.

“Stay still,” he says, adjusting in his desk chair.

“Got it,” Hinata hums. He looks perfectly comfortable, reclined, hands resting low on his hips, but Kageyama knows him well, by now, enough to know that sitting still for even five minutes is a little too much, let alone...however long it’s going to take for Kageyama to draw him.

“Alright,” he says, throwing an arm dramatically over his head, “draw me like one of your French girls.”

Kageyama pelts his eraser in Hinata’s very general direction.  

* * *

It takes Kageyama longer than he’d have thought, to even get started. He does a few hesitant lines, at first; long, light, sweeping scratches with his pencil, which he immediately rubs away in favour of shorter ones, straighter ones, curved and bowed and bending ones.

From an artistic perspective, Hinata’s pose is good; he is loose-limbed and pliant, and the bow of his spine looks natural, comfortable. Nothing overly complicated.

From Kageyama’s perspective, Hinata is the worst thing he’s ever had to draw, _ever_.

It’s stupid, because Hinata isn’t doing anything overtly sexual, but regardless, Kageyama’s blood is pumping with only one destination in mind, and the lack of flow to his brain is making it decidedly difficult to concentrate on the task at hand. But focusing so attentively on his every little detail only makes Kageyama more and more aware of how good Hinata looks, always, trying or not.

He sketches in the shape of Hinata’s body, first; the length of his legs and the curve of his hips, his thin waist and narrow shoulders; then the soft angle of his jaw; the slope of his nose; his plump, full lips. There are things Kageyama can only capture as well as pencil will allow, like Hinata’s freckles, dotted across his shoulders and chest, for the way they stand out in the bleeding evening light is something blacks and greys and whites can’t possibly convey.

Kageyama maps them with his eyes, imagines tracing them with his lips, and his tongue, but his pencil moves on, filling in the soft bulges of muscles in his stomach and his arms, adding definition to the arc of his back. He can imagine the feel of that curve beneath his open palm, gliding from his neck to his rear, holding him close, with his thighs hiked up around Kageyama’s waist and—

—he shakes his head, and focuses back on the drawing.

Hinata’s cock lies soft against his thigh. It’s not a sight Kageyama sees all that often—most times, by the time he gets Hinata out of his clothes, he’s already swollen, red, ready and waiting. He looks guiltily down at his own crotch. It’s unfair, how much control Hinata has over his body, and how little Kageyama has over his own.

Hinata squirms on the bedding, and Kageyama pauses his hand.

“Stop,” he says. Hinata shuffles again. “Stop doing that.”

“Sorry,” Hinata says, sounding not very sorry at all. “It’s just— _hard_ , when you’re staring.”

“I have to stare to _draw_ ,” Kageyama says. It’s not...strictly true; he is perhaps staring a little harder than necessary, and for longer periods than his art calls for, but it can’t be helped, not when Hinata looks like—well, like _that_. It’d be impossible to draw him without staring a _bit_ , without mapping each and every bump and groove, every swell and hollow of him, but it’s embarrassing to be caught all the same.

“It’s okay. I like you looking at me,” Hinata says softly. Kageyama’s cheeks grow impossibly warm.

He grunts something noncommittal, and starts filling in more little details; shadows where the window panes strip the sunlight, knobs of knuckles and joints in his fingers, thatches of hair at his armpits and low on his stomach.

“It feels good,” Hinata goes on. A shiver works its way up Kageyama’s spine, slowly at first, and then a quick, sharp whiz to his head that makes his body shudder. That _tone_ , deep and gentle, and breathy, sets an undeniable heat brewing low in Kageyama’s gut. His hand judders, scratching a too-heavy line on the paper.

Hinata’s fingers stroke absently at his hip. It’s distracting, so much so that Kageyama drops his eraser twice, too busy watching with progressively numbing extremities as Hinata’s hand drifts from his hip to his thigh, tracing patterns all the while.

“Stop moving,” Kageyama says, hoarsely. Hinata’s mouth quirks in a little grin, and he shrugs himself deeper into the bedclothes, mewling softly.

“Can’t help it,” he says absently, which Kageyama knows is a bold faced _lie_ . He absolutely can help it, the problem is that he doesn’t _want_ to.

His fingers pass in slow, tickling circles, creeping closer and closer to the inside of his thigh, where his cock rests, swelling slowly to life with every little touch. Kageyama watches, fascinated, as blood rushes beneath Hinata’s skin. It paints his thighs, his chest, his neck, and his cheeks a vibrant pink, glowing even brighter in the red sunlight.

Kageyama swallows, but the inside of his mouth is painfully dry.

“I just,” Hinata says, hand straying perilously close to his growing erection “feel so _good_.”

“Well, just...stop,” Kageyama says. “ _You_ wanted me to do this in the first place.”

Hinata stretches languorously, bringing his fingers to tickle over his cock as he does. He gasps, and arcs gently.

“I might’ve had ulterior motives,” he says.

 _No shit_ , Kageyama thinks, watching him now. He has, clearly, lost any and all interest in being drawn; his only focus now, it seems, is being watched, and enjoying every second to the fullest.

“I’m almost done,” Kageyama says, huffing. “Hold still for like, five more minutes.”

“No can do,” Hinata breathes, and before Kageyama can argue, he is taking his length in hand, pumping it to full hardness with slow, slack strokes. “ _Oh_ , I’ve been wanting to—to do that for _forever_.”

Kageyama gapes at him. Before his very eyes, Hinata is crumbling, sinking to get more comfortable as he sets a steady, even pace. He spreads his knees, fists the pillow, and pants into the room.

“So— _so_ good.”

Kageyama desperately wants to draw him just like this; head tipped back, eyes squeezed closed, fist pumping slowly at his cock until he is leaking, legs quivering. He wants to draw a million frames, one for each minuscule movement he makes, but all he can do is stare, open mouthed, as Hinata works himself, flushed in the knowledge that Hinata is like this because of _him_. He is hard, desperate and needy, because _Kageyama_ made him that way—made him that way without even _trying_.

“Hinata,” Kageyama says—whines, words choking helplessly out of him. He can’t tell whether he wants Hinata to stop what he’s doing or to _never_ stop. Hinata, it seems, has no intention of stilling, but he does slow, tilting his head and blinking bleary eyes in Kageyama’s direction.

“How much longer?” he says. Kageyama looks down at his sketch—it’s done, for the most part, save a few changes here and there, and on a normal day, he’d work at it until it was perfect, but today—today he just doesn’t have the will power. Doesn’t have the patience.

“Done,” Kageyama says. Hinata nods, and pants quietly, giving himself one more long, slow stroke, then he releases himself, and slowly, lets his legs fall open.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Kageyama scrambles to his feet, discarding the sketchpad and his pencils on the desk with a clatter, and clambering clumsily to the edge of the bed.

Hinata simply lies there, waiting. He is still, cheek turned to the pillow, a pretty red flush creeping over his shoulders. His eyes follow Kageyama’s every move, but the rest of him—save for his length which twitches intermittently, eagerly against his stomach—remains static.

“Was I a good model?” He asks innocently.

“That,” Kageyama says, and Hinata’s breath hitches at the sharpness of it, “was the hardest fucking thing I’ve ever had to do.”

“How come? I was very well-behaved.”

“You weren’t, at all,” Kageyama says, which is true, “but that’s not the problem.”

“What’s the problem, then?”

Still, Hinata has not moved. He remains, one arm curled up over the top of his head, the other resting lazily at his side. Kageyama wants desperately to touch him—he wants to touch all of him, all at once, and it’s overwhelming, deciding where to begin. Without Hinata’s encouragement, he’s at a loss.

“The problem—the problem is—sitting there, seeing you like...like this, and not…” Kageyama trails away, humiliation creeping up within him. He isn’t bold enough, not yet, to come out with all the thoughts he has where Hinata is concerned. It’s embarrassing, to voice the difficulty he has controlling himself—humiliating, heats his face until it _burns_.

“And not _what,_ Tobio?”

Kageyama groans audibly.

“I won’t know unless you tell me,” Hinata says. Kageyama’s fingers quiver at his sides. He wants to _show_ , not tell, but it’s hard. It’s too hard.

“Not...touch,” Kageyama says. Hinata lolls his head against the pillow, exposing more milky skin on his neck. He undulates absently, pressing his shoulders down into the pillows. Kageyama watches the muscles of his stomach bunch and roll beneath his skin.

“Touch where?”

“Everywhere,” Kageyama says, shakily. He settles gingerly on the edge of the bed, grabbing handfuls of the duvet to calm his twitching fingers. Hinata’s eyes follow him, watchful and quietly interested.

“Everywhere,” he hums thoughtfully. He brings his hand up from his side, and swipes his fingers down his cheek, and over his full, red lips. “Here?” He says. Kageyama nods heavily.

Hinata drags his hand down, over his jaw, curls it loosely around his neck. “And here?” Again, Kageyama nods. The skin looks so inviting beneath the gentle squeeze of Hinata’s fingers; pink and warm. Kageyama wonders what it’d be like to touch, to kiss, to suck the flesh up between his teeth and bite until he bruises.

He shifts, emboldened, and moves to lean over Hinata’s body, but Hinata brings a foot up to his chest and halts his progress, shaking his head.

“What about here?” He says, and his wandering hand moves down to a nipple, rubbing, then taking the bud between his fingers and pinching, hard enough to jerk his spine up off the bed. Kageyama groans.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding dumbly.

Hinata continues on, to his other nipple, to his stomach, his belly button, his sides and his hips, and all the while he says _here_ and _here_ and _here_ , and all the while Kageyama thinks yes and yes and _yes_ , _God_ , yes.

All the while, Hinata lets him touch _nothing_.

Hinata scrapes his nails over his thigh, painting pretty white tracks in amongst the pink, blushing skin. _There, too_ , Kageyama thinks, before Hinata can even suggest it; he wants to touch him desperately, to scratch and leave his own marks, and to kiss and soothe them, laving at the tender flesh until Hinata is squirming, hungry for more.

“Here, too?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Kageyama chokes, “yes, there.” 

Hinata doesn’t move on, as expected. His hand doesn’t drift inwards, towards his cock, where it bobs impatiently at his stomach. Instead, he says, “You tell me where, next.”

Kageyama gives a despairing little moan, and Hinata blinks big, blown eyes at him.

“No need to be embarrassed, Yamayama,” he says, which sounds awfully like he’s teasing, and therefore nullifying his own point entirely, but Kageyama thinks he probably isn’t if the look on his face is anything to go by. Open and earnest, and eager to hear.

“Your—” Kageyama stops, stutters, clears his throat, “your—cock.”

Hinata grins at him, something like pride glowing in his gaze. And, as promised, he moves on, painfully slowly, from his thigh to wrap his hand once more around himself. Above his head, his other hand grabs at the pillow, hips coming up to fuck into his own fist, a little, watery gasp escaping him.

“Like that?” he says, tugging gently. He rolls his palm over the head with practiced ease, slicking his shaft with pre-come. Kageyama watches the skin grow wetter, shinier, with every stroke.

“Yeah.”

“What else?” Hinata asks. “How else would you touch me here?”

There are so many thoughts in Kageyama’s head—so many ways in which he’d love to touch and to take—but he can’t—he can’t _say_ them, not out loud. Not for Hinata to hear.

His turmoil must show on his face, because Hinata’s touch slows nearly to a stop, and he cocks his head, watching Kageyama softly. Hinata might be pushy, but he knows that Kageyama, like everybody else, has limits, and he is very good at keeping within them.

“Need a little help?” he says. Kageyama nods. “Alright. Would you—would you just use your hand?”

Oh, Kageyama thinks, and then _oh_ , because he understands what Hinata means, but he isn’t entirely sure of his answer.

He’s never _done_ it before, with his mouth—Hinata has done it to him plenty, and it’s not like Kageyama hasn’t _thought_ about it, but...but he still doesn’t really know how. He realises belatedly that he and Hinata have perhaps started things a little backwards; sex first, everything else later.

Still, Kageyama lets himself entertain the idea. He wonders how Hinata might taste on his tongue, how he might feel, stiff and rigid between his cheeks, but _soft_ all the same; smooth, wet skin gliding right to the back of his throat. He wonders how Hinata might look, being swallowed by him—blissful, Kageyama hopes. Head tipped back and eyes fluttering closed, mouth open, breaths heaving from him chest.

Kageyama finds himself nodding before he can tell himself not to. Hinata keens quietly, and rolls his hips slowly.

“Yeah?” He says. Kageyama nods again. “How? Would you kiss me, right here?” He thumbs his head as he speaks. Kageyama all but whimpers. “Lick me? Or would you— _god_ —would you swallow me down whole?”

Kageyama reaches pitifully forward. _All of the above_ , he thinks. All of the _fucking_ above, if Hinata will just keep looking at him like that, all needy, and wanting. This time, when he pitches closer, Hinata doesn’t stop him. He spreads his legs apart, making room for Kageyama to settle between them.

“ _Everything_.”  

Hinata jerks himself a little faster.

“All of it,” Kageyama says. “All— _god_ , Shouyou—every last thing.”

Hinata’s breath hitches sharply at the sound of his given name, breathless from Kageyama’s lips. He spreads his legs further still, and reaches his spare hand down, threading his fingers through Kageyama’s hair.

“Okay then,” he says, tugging at Kageyama gently, “show me how bad you wanna touch.”

Kageyama wastes no time reaching for him, nudging Hinata’s hand aside and stroking, with no teasing and no preamble, only quick, strong pulls that send Hinata’s hips careening up off the mattress, mouth falling open in a silent, stolen stream.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” he gasps, and then sobs, clapping a hand over his mouth as Kageyama thumbs at his tip. “Fuck, ‘Yama—”

“Okay?” Kageyama asks. Hinata nods frantically, thighs trembling as he holds himself up, stretching closer and closer to Kageyama’s every touch. Kageyama turns his head and kisses the shuddering flesh with little, open-mouthed presses, while Hinata whimpers above him, jerky  moans coughing out of him with every breath.

“Your—your mouth, please, Yam— _Tobio_ —”

“I don’t…” Kageyama starts, but Hinata shakes his head distraughtly against the pillow and opens his mouth, whining.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, swallowing air as Kageyama’s fist continues to work diligently over him. “Doesn’t _matter_ , I don’t—just do _something_ , _please_.”

Kageyama stares up at him. He has seen Hinata desperate many, many times before. He has heard him beg, and cry, and plead for something, anything, _more_ , but despite his consistent exposure, Kageyama has never grown used to the sight, or the sound. He swallows hard, and his cock throbs in his sweats.

“Please,” Hinata says again, and Kageyama is helpless to resist him.

He starts with a kiss, soft and barely there, brushing his lips over Hinata’s red, weeping head. Hinata takes a sharp, shuddering breath, and at Kageyama’s insistent, pressing palm, lowers his hips flat to the mattress.

“‘Yama,” he whimpers, nodding his encouragement. Kageyama thinks hard, thinks of the blowjobs Hinata has given him, thinks of the things he’s read and the things he’s seen, what sounds best and what feels best. He kisses at him again, a little harder this time, a little fuller, so his lips press and spread obscenely against Hinata’s tip. Hinata’s stomach quivers under his palm and a rippling groan shudders out of him.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Kageyama sinks his mouth down on him, until the whole head glides against his tongue. The taste isn’t particularly _good_ , but there is something heady to it that makes his head spin.

“‘S good,” Hinata moans quietly, both hands sliding deep into Kageyama’s hair. His thighs come up, over Kageyama’s shoulders, closing in at either side of his head. Kageyama feels distinctly trapped, caught. It’s not a bad sensation. “M-more, if—if you can.”

He is only being considerate, Kageyama knows, but he takes it as a challenge nonetheless, and takes more of Hinata into his mouth. What he can’t swallow down, he strokes with his fingers, and beneath his stilling hand Hinata’s muscles strain, desperate to push deeper. He fills the inside of his mouth with saliva, until his lips and cheeks and tongue are suitably sloppy, spit slipping to dampen the full length of Hinata’s shaft.

“Suck,” Hinata says. Kageyama takes a slow breath through his nose, then hollows his cheeks. A long, drawn-out cry stutters itself out of Hinata’s chest.

“ _Yes_ ,” he cries, “god, Tobio, I’ve been— _haah_ —thinking about this for—forever.”

Kageyama hums his acknowledgement, and Hinata swears violently.

“You—I knew you’d feel so...so good, swallowing me,” he says. Kageyama feels the very tips of his ears bloom hot, but he doesn’t stop his ministrations, pumping and sucking and rolling his tongue clumsily. He _knows_ Hinata has had better, but the praise is still thrilling. Kageyama grinds himself hard into the mattress; the pressure is becoming unbearable, and it only gets worse the more Hinata squirms above him, the more salty pre-come leaks against his tongue, the more praises Hinata crows, and the more he twitches, swelling in Kageyama’s mouth.

“I’m—” he gasps. “Kageyama— _huuh-ah_ —gonna come.”

He pulls, gently at first, and then harder, frantic, at Kageyama’s hair, but Kageyama holds firm, sucking stubbornly.

“ _Shit_ , Yama—I can’t—ah, _ah_ —”

And then he stills, full body bowing taut, and with a tiny, strangled cry, he spills right into Kageyama’s throat.

Right down the wrong _side_ of Kageyama’s throat.

He pulls up abruptly, hacking, while Hinata shivers through his aftershocks and drags his heavy, pliant body up off the bed.  

“ _Bakageyama_ ,” Hinata says, shaky and breathless, rubbing helplessly between Kageyama’s shoulders, “I tried to tell you.”

“‘S fine,” Kageyama wheezes. He gives a few more pitiful coughs, and then sucks a great lungful of air, catching his breath. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse, rasping. “I wanted you to—you know.”

“Choke you on my—”

Kageyama palms Hinata’s face away, shoves him until he is lying flat once more, cheek mushed into the pillow, and then he towers over the top of him, grabbing his jaw, and turning his head to kiss him hard on the mouth.

Hinata purrs lightly, and wraps both arms around Kageyama’s shoulders. Hinata’s lips are soft, and warm, and wonderfully familiar. Kageyama isn’t entirely sure when kissing Hinata became such a comfort.

Hinata sighs gently into his mouth.

“Thank you,” he whispers against Kageyama’s lips. Something in Kageyama’s chest balls up pleasantly tight. He cards his fingers back through Hinata’s ratty, mussed hair, and kisses him again, slipping his tongue along the seam of Hinata’s mouth. Hinata kisses back in kind, opening up, moaning faintly at the taste of himself.

He lets one hand glide down Kageyama’s back, over his ass, and then around, until he is palming Kageyama’s rigid length through his sweats.

“You’ve been like this for _ages_ , huh?” he says. Kageyama gives an involuntary, guttural groan. He _has_ ; has been like this forever, it feels like, and only when Hinata cups him, squeezes him, does Kageyama realise just how desperate he is for a little relief, too.

Hinata peppers soft, wet kisses all the way along Kageyama’s cheek, to his ear, where he leans in close, so close his lips tickle at the lobe when he speaks.

“You wanna come, too?”

“Mhm,” Kageyama hums, grunting, because before he could even _reply_ Hinata had been rubbing him, massaging through the fabric of his sweats. Kageyama searches frantically for Hinata’s lips, kisses him solidly, gasping into his mouth with every firm, knowing touch. Hinata’s hand is good, will do the job just _fine_ , but Kageyama’s mind is swirling, pictures of Hinata spread and ruined beneath him playing in his mind.

He hikes both of Hinata’s thighs up around his hips, holds him close. Hinata gives a yelp, releasing Kageyama’s shaft to steady himself against his shoulders.

Hinata sucks Kageyama’s bottom lip up between his teeth, and nips at it gently.

“You good?” he asks. Kageyama shakes his head, trembling.

“Want you,” he murmurs breathily, eyelids fluttering as he grinds himself down against Hinata’s hips. “Hinata—I want—”

“Okay,” Hinata says, understanding. “I know.” He strokes his hand through Kageyama’s hair, scraping his nails soothingly against his scalp. Kageyama grinds helplessly against him, dropping his forehead to rest on the pillow, mouth pressed in a thin line to Hinata’s shoulder. “Lube?”

“Drawer,” Kageyama grunts. Hinata nudges him up, just enough to stretch over the edge of the bed. Kageyama listens distantly to the scrape of the drawer, the rattle of items, displaced by Hinata’s searching hand.

“Got it,” Hinata says. “Up.”

Kageyama gives one more desperate, pitiful press to Hinata’s abdomen, searching for relief, and then peels himself up to kneel on the bed. Hinata squirts a little of the lube into the palm of his hand, and rubs to warm it.

“I can’t—I can’t _wait_ ,” Kageyama says. He hates the sound of his own voice, whiny and pathetic, but Hinata just croons gently, easing him with quiet, calming, _I know’_ s and _it’s okay_ ’s.

Instead of moving to prep himself, like Kageyama had expected, Hinata reaches instead for the waistband of Kageyama’s sweats. He tugs the elastic from Kageyama’s hips and pulls him out, rubbing his slick palms gently over his shaft. Kageyama twitches, and jerks.

“ _Hina_ ,” he coughs. Hinata presses his lips to Kageyama’s stomach soothingly, shushing into the skin.

“I know,” he says again, and then, “behind me.”

Kageyama watches dazedly as Hinata lies back down, this time on his side, and pats the mattress at his back. “Here.”

Kageyama does as told. He flops to lie on his side, too, presses right up at Hinata’s back, cock nestling automatically against his ass. Hinata shakes his head.

“Between my legs,” he says, and when Kageyama makes no move to follow instruction, he parts his thighs and reaches between them, urging Kageyama’s length through and pressing his legs together once more.

“ _Oh_ ,” Kageyama gasps, driving forward slowly, until he is fully encased in the warm, supple flesh. Hinata brings his hand up, over his shoulder, to grab gently at Kageyama’s hair, and then he nods his okay, rocking his hips back slowly into Kageyama’s.

“Go ahead,” he says. Kageyama gives a slow, experimental thrust. “Just like that.”

It feels _heavenly,_ compared the coarse confines of his pants, rutting himself into Hinata’s soft skin. He is mindless with desperation and Hinata’s soft encouragements, aimless words bleeding endlessly past his lips—”that’s right,” and “so good,” and “you feel _perfect_ , Tobio,”—and with each new phrase, each new thrust, Kageyama drives himself closer and closer, until he is teetering dangerously over the edge.

Hinata’s other hand finds Kageyama’s hip, and squeezes.

“C’mon,” he says, “come for me.”

And Kageyama falls, helplessly.

His orgasm is blinding, but quick, taking him high and slamming him right back down again, boneless and breathless. Hinata wriggles his ass back against Kageyama’s hips, and twists his neck, turning to look at him.

Kageyama opens his mouth to speak, to say thank you, too, but before he can get a word in, Hinata is kissing him again, the softest press of lips and his of breath.

“You did _awesome_ ,” Hinata says earnestly, grinning, and rolling to face him fully. “Like, kinda clumsy, but—best blowjob _ever_.”

“Gee, thanks,” Kageyama says. He curls a hand absently around Hinata’s hip, stroking low at the bottom of his back. Hinata presses into the touch, and knocks his forehead lazily to Kageyama’s.

“Very welcome,” he says.

Post-sex Hinata is always very _soft_. He stays cuddled close, breathing in the air Kageyama breathes out, deeply, rocking slowly into Kageyama’s wandering touch. Kageyama would be a fool to say that he loves it, loves it better, maybe, than the sex itself—foolish, because sex is what he and Hinata _do_. Sex is their thing.

It’s stupid, he knows, feeling so...so _attached_ . Hinata is a sex worker by profession; sex is what he does, what he knows, what he _likes_. And sex with Kageyama is the pastime he has chosen. And they will continue to do it until Hinata gets bored, disinterested by the vanilla-ness of everything Kageyama does, and is comfortable doing.

It’s an objective thought, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting.

“‘Yama?” Hinata says. He tucks his face into Kageyama’s neck, and kisses softly at his skin. “You okay?”

Kageyama hums his yes.

Hinata doesn’t move straight away. He stays still, in Kageyama’s loose embrace, nuzzling at his throat, and then he pulls back and stares at him, eyes darting back and forth over his face, searching for the lie. He doesn’t seem to find it, thankfully, but he doesn’t look...entirely convinced, either.

He brushes a gentle, barely there kiss to the corner of Kageyama’s mouth.

“Okay,” he says, then he sits up, stretching himself out. “C’mon then.” He slaps a palm to Kageyama’s thigh. “Show me.”

“Show you what?”

Hinata smacks at him again.

“You know what, stupid. Your drawing! Lemme see!”

Kageyama kicks back against the pillows, folding his arms over his chest.

“No,” he says. “No, I don’t think I will.”

“ _Hah?!_ ”

“Because,” Kageyama says. “You were an asshole.”

“Wha—how?!” Hinata sputters, lurching up and straddling Kageyama’s hips, glaring at him. “You were— _way_ more of an asshole than me,” he says, flattening his hair to his forehead in a mockery of Kageyama’s smooth, straight fringe. He adopts a deep, moping voice, and says, “ _no. Not happening. The answer is no. I’m Kageyama, and I’m a fun-sponge_.”

“I don’t sound like that,” Kageyama says.

“Uh-huh.” Hinata folds his arms over his chest. Kageyama is endlessly surprised at the ease with which Hinata can sit, completely naked, looking like a fool, without a hint of embarrassment on his face.

“I’m not a fun-sponge.”

“Uh _-huh_. The spongiest, most absorbent fun-sucker I’ve ever met, in the history of ever.”

“I don’t suck _fun_.”

“Do too. If you’re not gonna show me,” Hinata says. “Then I’ll just have to look for myself.” He makes to get off the bed, but Kageyama is faster, grabbing him by the waist and pulling him back down.  He topples them over, pins Hinata to the mattress, wrestling to get his loose, flailing limbs under control.

All the while, Hinata laughs, hearty and full, forcing vague threats between his chuckles until Kageyama latches his lips hard to Hinata’s throat and sucks, and his chuckles bleed off into low, telltale moans.

* * *

Later, with the shower running hot and Hinata’s garbled singing echoing through the flat, Kageyama picks up his discarded sketchbook, and turns it to the most recent page.

It isn’t the best sketch he’s ever done. The lines are a little wobbly, smudged and scratchy in places they shouldn’t be, and they aren’t particularly clean, but the detail is there clear as day; Hinata, stretched supine on Kageyama’s bedding, shadowed by the fading light through the window, eyes half-lidded and slack in rest.

Kageyama brushes his fingers gently over Hinata’s still, captured face, something awfully like fondness bubbling from deep within him. He fights back a smile, and closes the book, hiding it away amongst all of his others.

It isn’t the best sketch he’s ever done, sure, but...but Kageyama thinks it’s perhaps his most favourite one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this installment as much as the rest! Thank you so much for the continued support for this silly universe - I never could have imagined so many people would enjoy the concept so thoroughly, and I'm endlessly blown away by all of your lovely comments. Thank you again, and I hope to see you all soon! 
> 
> Tumblr: someone-stole-my-shoes  
> Twitter: someone_stolemy

**Author's Note:**

> Pining kageyama is my Life honestly okay 
> 
> Thank you for reading!! And for any comments/kudos/bookmarks etc, feel free to come talk to me on tumblr @ someone-stole-my-shoes if you wanna talk more about cam boy hina and this AU, or just...kagehina in general tbh


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